Bouncer
by kamelion
Summary: It was just another dream brought on by a groggy mind, overworked and underplayed and needing rest. Although why Rodney's mind should choose this form of entertainment was beyond him. Except...he hadn't been dreaming.
1. Chapter 1

Huge, huge thanks goes out to my betas, Patricia and Ellex, for suffering with me through my doubts.

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It called to Malachi. It always called to him, pulling him to the center of the ocean. The sky was a deep, imperial blue, the stars shone brightly, but not as brightly as the moon, whose reflection glowed in the waves below. The white puddle seemed to spread with the movement of the sea, reaching out for him, then receding back into the tide.

He stood there, watching from the shore. The cliffs and trees behind him were dark. The sand glowed unnaturally. The patch of light on the water beckoned to him, and he knew he could not go, he did not dare. He was a wise man, but even the wise had their faults. His was giving in, listening. He was a caring man, but there were times when the caring ended in hurt. He was a noble man, and he was about to do the unthinkable.

He knelt down and reached out to the water.

**_Bouncer_**

_Large, white hands were prominent against a shadowed background as thick, calloused fingers reached for him, then wrapped around Rodney's throat. Sensations flashed by in frames: the damp earth at his back, the smell of rotting leaves, a sharp stick poking into his spine. The cold, paralyzing fear and chest ripping panic. A dry, closed throat. The bite of cold steel. He was partially enclosed in the jacket of the man leaning over him, the dangling fabric blotting out his surroundings, making Rodney aware only of the attacker hovering over him, killing him._

_He choked violently. He tried to scream as he clawed desperately at the hands. Images stabbed relentlessly at his mind, pictures much too vivid for reality, yet too startlingly clear for a dream. _

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was, in actuality, lying on the floor of his room in Atlantis, the hard cold surface seeping into his bones as he wrapped his arms tight around himself and fought the unwelcome mental intrusion.

It had started, yet again, with a sense of dizziness, then suddenly Rodney found himself in another world, in another body, and this body belonged to some poor soul whose lot in life was to suffer. He saw the murderer looming over him and as usual he couldn't run, couldn't hide, pinned to the ground by the crushing weight of a terrified heart. In his mind, he tried to back away, to scurry through the mulch, but no movement came. There was no aid from his body to fuel the desire to just get up and run.

_He was caught. Trapped. And forced to feel the savagery over and over again, the tearing pain, of being forced onto his back and seeing the attacker, but not really seeing him. Feeling the knife at his throat, and the blood dripping down his face from repeated blows, experiencing the pure dread of what was to come. And the knowledge that he wouldn't survive. _

_Stale breath invaded his nostrils. He breathed out forcefully, wanting no part of this person to join with him, and yet there was no choice. A knee pressed him into the earth, his tender ribs cracking underneath the pressure. And then there was the laughter, and a look from eyes so fierce – he was certain he had been captured by a monster. His clothing was ripped and his chest flayed, peeling back layers of skin, revealing a person that was best hidden. And he could do nothing but scream, yet his screams held no words, no sounds, just senseless, empty echoes in the cold night air. . . ._

Rodney was drenched in sweat, his body curled tightly around itself, his head throbbing. The pressure eased, and his eyes refocused through the tears. A cock-eyed, sideways view of a table leg presented itself, and he blinked, then tilted his head, so that the image made sense in his own mind. That wooden leg provided more stability than he'd felt in a long time, and he focused on it with all his being, calming his frantic heart beat, filling his lungs with steady breaths, telling himself it wasn't real. It was just another dream brought on by a groggy mind, overworked and underplayed and needing rest. Although why his mind should choose this form of entertainment was beyond him, and yet he felt, no – he was certain of it. Certain. Without a doubt.

He hadn't been asleep.

A shaky hand reached out and took hold of the table leg. He held on tightly for several moments, his thumb working at the smooth grains, tracing the hand carved Athosian design. Slowly he pulled himself up, bracing his other hand against the floor, then sat back, still grasping the table. His grip relaxed as his breath finally evened out, and he stood, rubbing his palms on his jeans, then through his hair. His timer beeped. He turned an accusing eye to it, daring it to make another noise of normality in such a precarious situation. He sniffed loudly and checked on his MRE.. The flavor sucked, but he was tired of sandwiches, and quite frankly hadn't been in the right frame of mind to venture down to the mess. He poured a cup of coffee and sat at the small table that had acted as an anchor just moments earlier, and stared at his food. Just stared. His mind was still reeling despite the motions of everyday life he was forcing himself through. This was the third time Rodney had experienced a disturbing vision, each one different in nature, yet each one as violent as the last. And they were so real.

His radio chirped. It seemed miles away rather than within arm's length, reminding him of just how tired he really was. He nodded a few times after his initial and somewhat terse response, forgetting that the person talking couldn't see his nod, then muttered an apology and a promise to leave ASAP. And with that he set down his mug and fixed the radio to his ear, then quickly reclaimed the mug for a long gulp. He ran out of his room, securing the door and his fears, locking them both firmly behind him.

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"You sure you are okay?" Radek asked again, studying the pinched expression that was apparently brought on by pain, rather than intense concentration.

"What? Oh. I uh. . .headache. It's nothing." Rodney rubbed at his brow line and frowned at the text before him.

The dismissal worried Radek. "It is late. I should not have called you."

"Don't be stupid." Rodney tapped the screen before them. "You said these match the readings from last week?"

"Yes, yes, you can see for yourself." Radek spun in his chair and reached behind him, spinning back to place a large piece of film before McKay. He pointed to the colored lines on the transparency. "There. Compare it."

Rodney lifted the film and angled it in the light. "Amazing. It looks like it belongs in an art gallery."

"And what do you know of art galleries?"

"Hey, I'm worldly! Universal, even." Rodney tilted the image to him. "But this. . .I've never seen energy readings like this. I mean, this is huge."

"And yet you seem less than enthusiastic."

"Look, I already told you, I have a headache." Rodney tossed the film back to the desk and leaned back, rubbing his hands over his face.

"I should not have called you," Radek repeated.

"Radek. . ." Rodney growled.

"It's known you are worn out after the Wraith attack on Atlantis. It's known you have not slept much, which is normal, yes, but you have been. . ."

Rodney glared. "What? Well, spit it out! Ill? Out of it? Crazy?"

Radek looked sympathetic. "Exhausted."

Rodney conceded. "There's that."

"Which is why I should not have called you." Radek looked up as the door opened and Sheppard walked in, followed closely by Teyla.

John was shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't believe this. Rodney, what did Carson tell you?"

"Colonel. . ."

John's posture assumed the usual laid-back slouchiness, but Rodney could read the tense irritation in his friend's shoulders. "The Doc said to rest for forty-eight hours, until you're steady on your feet. Now was that too much to ask?"

"I AM back on my feet." His retort was cut short by the obvious fact that he was sitting in a chair.

"Since when do you have a medical degree on your wall?"

"This was my fault, actually," Radek said. "I called him here."

Sheppard was unrelenting. "Oh really? And I don't suppose this could've waited?"

"It probably could have, yes. It was a courtesy call, he was the one who decided to come here."

"Oh, nice defense, Radek, thanks." Rodney muttered, and ducked away from Radek's glare.

"Look, as much as I respect the work you two fine men are doing here, for future reference, Radek, leave the man alone on his off day, okay?" John cut the Czech a look of admonishment and walked around the desk to stand before the physicist. He knew grounding Rodney from his work was about as effective as telling the man not to eat. "But since you're here, you figure out anything?"

"Not without further experimentation, no." Rodney winced and pinched the bridge of his nose.

This time it was John's turn to show a bit of concern, in his subtle way. "You okay?"

"Headache."

He nodded. "Yep. You need to go see Carson."

"I. . .no! Don't you remember what happened last time?" The hand pulled away to reveal a stern expression. "I was laid up in bed for a full twenty hours wasting precious time for no reason! He found nothing wrong that certain Wraith extinction wouldn't cure."

John relented before the argument could begin. Rodney's collapse upon his return from their last mission had scared him, and Carson's diagnosis that he appeared on the brink of suffering a mild nervous breakdown hadn't helped. Could he help if the situation caused him to be a bit apprehensive toward his friend's health? Especially with the news he had just received. . .he started shifting the unidentifiable items strewn across Rodney's work area. "Don't you have any aspirin around here?"

"No, you've used it all! Look, I'll be fine." He pushed John's hands away and looked over the colonel's shoulder, acknowledging Teyla's presence. "And as flattered as I am by all the attention, I'm not so gullible as to think you came down here for this." He gestured at the film then pinned them with a serious look. "So what's going on?"

"We just wanted to watch you work," Sheppard replied smugly, "so I can say 'told you so' when you collapse."

"Colonel, you're checking up on me and you know it. Now stop," Rodney snapped, and returned to his study of the graph.

"Your attitude isn't providing a good case for you not going to see Carson."

"Colonel, if you don't know me for the egotistical bastard that I am by now, then you are beyond hope." He picked up the film, then laid it back down in exasperation. "Are you still here?"

"Too bad you're in such a crappy mood," Sheppard leaned over his shoulder, "I actually had some news to tell you."

"I'm sure it isn't important."

"It has to do with that wonderful little planet we were booted from, BR549 or whatever." He straightened and walked behind Rodney, forcing the man to turn in his chair, thereby capturing his full attention. "We have to go back."

Rodney looked like someone had stubbed his toe. "Back? Why?"

"I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to," Ronon said. "I need to talk with the leader of the Arai people."

Rodney pulled himself to full attention. "Again. . .why?"

Ronon glanced at John, then replied, "Can't say. Not until I talk to Malachi."

"Okay, fine, leave us hanging." Rodney returned to his screen, his jaw set. "So, do we all have to go back? Because some of us have more important things to do, like analyze the readings from this power converter. . ."

"Dr. Weir thinks it best if we all go," Teyla said simply.

"Does she now." Rodney nodded slowly, his eyes fixed to his laptop. "Fine. Play games, cause it's obvious you know something I don't. No need to tell me, not like I'm used to being 'in the know' around here. Oh, wait, wait," his laugh was ironic, "I _am_ 'the know' around here!" His eyes burned into theirs.

John decided to level with his friend. "Shut up and listen, will ya?" He sighed and knelt down in front of Rodney, seeing him tense at the proximity and the unexpected sincerity of the gesture. "Ronon and I have been talking. He mentioned something he can remember from his past. We think it has something to do with your dreams, Rodney, or whatever the hell they are. We need to talk to Malachi."

"My dreams, according to Carson, are due to the fact that I'm apparently no longer capable of handling any sort of stress. And doesn't he love that, because it gives him yet one more thing to hold over my head."

"Rodney . . ."

"Okay! Okay. Just what would this imaginary diagnosis be?" Rodney asked, then winced and put his palm to his forehead.

Teyla came up behind him, her long fingers curling over his shoulders, rubbing the tension away. Rodney leaned back into it despite himself. "Have you had any recent dreams that disturb you?" she asked softly.

Rodney looked up, all prepared to deny the very notion, but couldn't. Not looking at those dark, concerned eyes. "Yeah," he admitted. "Radek's rather timely page actually helped to bring me out of it."

"You mean you had one today? This evening?" Teyla's exclamation brought John upright. He took Rodney's arm, and immediately felt a protest as Rodney stiffened.

"What the – Colonel!" He dug his heels in.

"Rodney, don't argue with me."

"I'm fine!"

"You have a damned strange definition of 'fine'! And for a hypochondriac to insist he's fine when he isn't is double the cause for worry. Now don't make me sic Teyla on you." The Athosian raised an amused eyebrow.

"I am not a hypochondriac!"

"Yeah, sure." John didn't rise to the bait.

Rodney regarded him and sighed. "Okay, all right. Fine. But I'll go myself, I don't need a damn babysitter." He snatched his arm from John's grip and stood. "When do we leave for this planet?"

"Well, _pending your condition_," John was careful to emphasize, "you'll need to be ready by oh-nine hundred tomorrow." He took a step back, and gestured toward the door. "Let's find out first if you're going anywhere."

"I think if this concerns me, I damn well better be going somewhere."

John stepped aside as Rodney pushed past. Teyla looked slightly annoyed at his abrupt behavior, but she passed it off with a shrug, and John returned one in response. They followed Rodney to the infirmary.

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Rodney sat on the bed in the infirmary, waiting. Lately it seemed that if he were conscious, the time was spent waiting. Only when unconscious could he enjoy the pleasantries the infirmary had to offer, such as wonderful drugged slumber. Not that he enjoyed having his brain turned to Jell-O, but it did help to take the edge off. Of course there was the other notion that, if unconscious, could one really enjoy anything? His legs swung impatiently as he tapped a distorted rhythm on the thin mattress. His thoughts eventually drifted to Malachi, and the planet they had visited the previous week.

While McKay was anything but a people person, he did have instincts, and they proved to be surprisingly accurate when he let his head give in to what his gut told him. He had sensed that Malachi was normally a personable man. He could see the warmth in the older eyes, masked by something, some cloud of discontent. At the time he had dismissed it as yet another world suffering hardship. But the fact that they had emerged through the gate only to be shoved back through with barely an exchange of names, and the promise never to return, held as much of a pull for him as any mathematical puzzle. And now they were going back? Absurd.

He wasn't sure how their return would be treated. He was even less convinced that Ronon was telling him the whole story. He knew something, but he was keeping it to herself, and that angered him, especially since it apparently had something to do with the nightmares he had been experiencing since their return. Horrible, vicious visions. He still wasn't sure if they were real. But on the other hand, he'd take their imaginary explanation over a diagnosis of a nervous breakdown any day.

"What's the news, Carson?" John's voice startled him from his thoughts, and Rodney turned to the Scotsman.

"I can see nothing abnormal, other than the usual lack of sleep. But with Rodney that's practically normal, I'm beginning to think his system actually works better with little rest."

"Puts more energy into other things," Rodney remarked distractedly.

"And I'm not touching that comment." Carson's mouth quirked. "There is nothing to keep him from going off world." He sighed and slapped a few sheets of paper into John's upturned palm. "He has my clearance, against my better judgment. Just do be careful and keep me informed, okay? Last thing I want is to have to gate to that world and track you guys down."

"Perish the thought," Rodney muttered as he hopped down from the bed.

"I dare say you'll perish the consequences if your idle-brainedness lands you on this bed again."

"Idle-brained? Me? Your concern for my mental state is overwhelming." Rodney stared at Carson in disbelief.

"Out with you, before I change my mind." The doctor shoved the men towards the door. "I have patients with legitimate concerns to deal with."

"Ouch!" John exclaimed as they headed out. "First it's idle-brained, now he says you aren't legit."

"OUT!" Carson shooed them away.

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Even the briefing with Elizabeth did little to enlighten Rodney. It was as if they had already discussed the pertinent points of their return, and called him in just to make sure he knew when the bus was leaving and to make certain he had clean underwear. Never before had he felt so out of the loop. He shuffled through the pockets of his field vest with increasing irritation, thrusting in small scanners he knew he wouldn't need, looking for his PDA pen. He grabbed a few power bars. Snatched a packet of instant coffee. Wondered if he should have thrown another change of underwear into his duffle. Hell, he had no clue how long he'd be on the planet, or why they were going back. If it wasn't for the fact that deep down, he knew his friends had his best interests at heart, he'd be pissed off indeed. And as someone who wasn't used to depending on others for his own well-being, that thought was disconcerting enough.

They said little as they met in the gate room. Rodney made it a point not to look at the others as he adjusted and readjusted the buckles on his vest, but he could feel their glances toward him, and knew they were sharing the secret looks that he didn't want to witness. They said nothing as they emerged on the other side in the bright sun to be greeted by a somber Malachi. He merely held up his hand for silence, his head cocked to the side as he listened, then signaled for the team to follow him. Rodney noticed that Teyla and John were on high guard, and Ronon the Barbarian didn't leave his side for a moment.

This was doubly unnerving. Ronon was protective, yes, he had come to realize that. He was known to stick beside Rodney in a firefight, because Rodney was the one with the least military experience. So for him to stick close wasn't totally unexpected, but this protective stance was almost predatory, like he was expecting something to jump from the thick brush and engulf them both. He walked as close to shoulder-to-shoulder with Rodney as he could get while passing through open fields and into sparse woods. There was no need for the proximity, especially since the two weren't exactly friends. Rodney felt himself growing more and more tense, wanting to tell the big oaf to back the fuck off, and half expecting to be thrown to the ground at the sound of a weapon. But only birdcall greeted them, that and the wind turning the leaves in the trees. The forest thickened as they started to ascend, the sun mottled on the ground below them.

The land became rocky and unstable. Soon they weren't so much hiking as climbing, with Ronon remaining as close as possible, occasionally guiding Rodney along by the scruff of his neck. Rodney questioned the sanity of assisting one up a steep slope by the neck, but said nothing. He needed his breath for the climb, and deep inside, he was grateful for what help he could get. John and Teyla had to give up their alert stances due to the climb, but their eyes were keen, and they took in everything. Rodney still had no clue what was going on, and again was annoyed, but said nothing. They cleared the summit and started down a steep slope. A half hour's walk later they stumbled tiredly into a settlement.

The houses were rudimentary, but nice. Not quite log cabins, but not huts, they graced the walkways with a simple presence. Each was well lived in, and quaint. Plants and flowers lightly decorated the front, pots hung on wires slung from the low hanging eaves. The rough wooden chairs that were set outside looked homey. And in the distance, children were playing, some with handmade toys, others with a small ball of sorts. It was here that Malachi finally turned with a smile. "You may speak now. Welcome to the home of the Arai."

Rodney took a step forward and was stopped by Ronon as John nodded, and panted, "I assume you'll explain everything, maybe after a drink?"

Malachi nodded. "Of course. You will be guests at Sanara's, where you may rest and take refreshment." He held his hand toward Rodney. "Doctor McKay, you will be my guest."

"Uh, actually," John said hurriedly, "don't you think it would be best if one of us stayed close to Rodney?" This earned a look of astonishment from the man in question.

"I believe we would rather stay together, all of us, if that is possible," Teyla added.

Malachi shook his head in apprehension. "Everyone, no, not possible, I do not have the room, and I need Doctor McKay with me. I may, however, make accommodations for just one more." He looked at John. "Since you are their leader, you may stay. Would this be satisfactory?"

John could read between the lines. It wasn't so much the lack of sleep space, they'd be happy on the floor. It was lack of food. Malachi himself couldn't feed them all, and had persuaded a neighbor to help. "Suits me. And in exchange, maybe you can tell us how you caught that." He pointed to a deer-looking creature turning slowly on a spit.

Malachi smiled. "You have come on our moon festival. We eat as a community when the moon is at its fullest. A hearty moon is a sign to feast and enjoy the abundance, as the moon has. I would be more than happy to share our gathering with you." A woman approached him, and he put his hand to her back. "This is Sanara. She is a fair sister of mine, and has consented to be your host." Malachi leaned in. "Her sweet bread is the best around, and I'm not just saying that," he muttered.

Sanara just smiled, apparently used to the compliment. She was an attractive yet plain woman, one who was very at ease with herself. She reached out for Ronon and Teyla, saying, "May my humble abode please you," and pulled them to a small house across from what was obviously Malachi's, for he was leading John and Rodney to it.

"We don't have much here," he said as they entered, "but we enjoy what we have. Many a day is a struggle," he walked right to the hearth and dipped water from a pot, "but we must enjoy ourselves to make up for the struggle, or the struggle is pointless." He touched a moist thumb to his forehead, then did the same to John and Rodney, lingering for a moment in front of the latter. "You are most welcome," he said solemnly. "Please make yourselves comfortable. I must leave for a while, it is my turn to work the spit, and I have a conversation to hold. I will be back in plenty of time to prepare for the gathering. There is Sanara's sweet bread there," he pointed to a basket, "and wine in the cask. I'll return as soon as I can, please, rest yourselves." He nodded and hurried out. In the distance he could be seen running to the spit, talking for a moment with the man turning it, then taking over as the man hurried to the next task.

John was content to take his rest after such a long travel. Rodney wasn't. John had hardly shrugged out of his vest when he was spun around and nearly backed into the wall by an furious mass of pissed off physicist. "You wanna tell me what the HELL is going on here?" Fury had nothing on Rodney. "Why are we here? What's with all the damn secrecy? And why are they suddenly allowing us on the planet when they chased us off the last time? Why isn't anyone saying anything?" He stared at John. "Dammit, why aren't YOU saying anything?"

John had never seen the man so angry, and could only assume it was days of tension and lack of sleeping fueling the attack. "Are you finished?" He kept his voice calm.

Rodney found he was holding onto John's shirt, and let go, smoothing the crease he had made, not that it would show. "Yeah."

"We came here because we think this place has something to do with what's happening to you."

"Yeah, look, I got that much." He was backing away, almost shaking like someone who needed a fix. "Wanna give me more information?"

"No."

"Oh, for GOD'S sake!"

"Rodney," John sighed and grabbed Rodney's arm as he started to walk away, "Listen to me! I can't. I don't know much, but I know that whatever this thing is that's happening, Malachi is aware of it, and he knows what to do. But part of that is contingent on keeping you in the dark." He made another grab as Rodney pulled away. "Hey, it sucks, I know. I hate doing it. But it's for your own safety." He tightened his grip. "You once told me I had to trust you. I said I could do that. Now the question here is, can you trust me?"

Rodney's gaze met John's, still not happy. "Don't see much choice in the matter. Do you?"

"Okay, I'll take that as a yes." John's voice softened. "We're not ganging up on you, we're not deliberately trying to keep you in the dark. We're trying to help. Hell, you heard Teyla, she didn't want to leave you at all."

"Neither did you, for that matter," Rodney admitted grudgingly. "And Ronon, god, he was walking so close I thought he was going to become permanently attached to me, and that was_ not_ a pleasant feeling." Again Rodney grew frustrated. "Look, it's me, okay? You know me. I may be prone to panic on occasion but I can handle this, with all the crap we've been through surely I've proven that! Just tell me what's going on!"

"If I tell you, we may not be able to help you," John said quietly, painfully.

"Well that's a. . ." Rodney tore his arm from John's grip. "Wait." He paled. "Shit. I-I'm dying, aren't I? That's why no one's talking, why. . .I have this thing, and this voodoo guy's the only one who can cure me. I have some alien ailment, all my important bits are going to fall off." He slumped, turning away, lost in his thoughts. "My brain will disintegrate, look, there is this procedure where a person can have their brain cryogenically frozen, and maybe years down the road I can be thawed and my knowledge will be useful again, provided they can get the synapses to fire. . ."

John grabbed him again, this time in exasperation. "RODNEY! You're not dying, get a grip! Is that your reaction to everything the least bit traumatic?"

"What's that supposed to mean? You think death isn't traumatic?"

"It means you have a habit of thwarting bad news with the assumption that you won't have to be around to cope with it!"

Rodney shook his head mildly in confusion. "That statement leaves a lot to be desired. So . . .not dying. Okay, good to know. Now the pending bad news I'm not so keen on."

"So what is it with you and this death thing, huh?"

Rodney's eyes were on the floor. "It's a knee-jerk reaction caused by an intense desire for self-preservation, okay?"

John nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips, but kept serious eyes on Rodney. "So you're okay with this?"

"No."

"Right." John started eyeing the small shelves and found two large cups. He grabbed a handle and dipped a cup into a large vessel, and passed it to Rodney. "Here, drink up."

Rodney raised the cup to his mouth, and jerked his head back in shock. "Wait! Don't . . ." He raised a finger, staring into the cup.

"Hmm?"

"He blessed himself and us with water, like he's using some hoodoo protection or something. . ."

"And?"

"And. . .that water was over there." Rodney pointed without looking up. "I don't think you meant to dip this."

John frowned and raised his own cup of liquid to his nose. "Crap!" He immediately flung it out the open window. It landed on a soft patch of grass and rolled.

Rodney nodded and carefully set his down. "Crap wouldn't be the word of choice, but close enough. Apparently someone forgot to empty the chamber pot."

"Ugh. . .god!" John vigorously wiped his hands on his pants. "Like a person can tell. Place smells like a. . ."

" . . .we better boil these cups."

". . .cleaning wouldn't hurt. The guy's obviously a bachelor." John straightened at his remark, and he and Rodney exchanged an odd look. Without another word, they set some water to boil.


	2. Chapter 2

Sanara was a courteous host. Within an hour not only had Teyla and Ronon been fed and rested, but bathed and changed. Their uniforms hung on a line just outside, looking very out of place with the surroundings. Teyla was feeling more feminine and less militant in a soft white cotton dress. Ronon looked ready to plow the fields.

Sanara smiled. "It isn't often I have guests, I hope everything is to your liking."

"It is, thank you. This dress is lovely." Teyla grinned and tried her hardest not to whirl around like a little girl. She gave in, and Ronon watched with an approving smile.

"Then you may keep it."

Teyla dearly wanted to. "I cannot."

"Please. I have several, and another in the making."

"These are of your making?" Of course. Teyla had studied the house and could see no evidence that a man lived there. Everything was in its place and ultra-clean. In the corner sat a large chest which Teyla guessed housed her sewing materials.

"This is my livelihood. We trade with four other villages on this side of the hills. I manage to earn enough to feed myself and buy what I need."

"You do beautiful work. I would be honored to possess such a finely crafted gift, thank you."

Sanara looked appropriately pleased, and turned to her fire. Teyla glanced at Ronon, who was standing politely but obviously restless. "Ronon, maybe you could take a turn at the spit and talk to Malachi? Our discussions here may not be of much interest to you."

Ronon raised his eyebrows and gave a small smile. "I'm not bothered by it. Discuss all you want." He caught the slight tilt of Teyla's chin towards the door. "Or I could help out, do something."

Teyla grinned. "Turning the spit would be doing something."

"Right." His lips pressed into a line, then quirked as his charms landed on Sanara. He walked out, his humor trailing behind him.

Teyla turned and was surprised to see Sanara staring after the large man. "So, how long does it take to make one of these?" The woman's gaze remained on the door. "Sanara?"

She jumped, snapping back into the present. "Oh, uh, a week at most. It depends greatly on the material I work with. A garment like you wear takes maybe two days. It is simple, but my best design."

Teyla nodded, her attention to detail obvious by the way she studied her surroundings. She sat at the small table in the center of the room. "Your place is immaculate. You must manage your time wisely in order to accomplish so much."

"Only I reside here, it is easy to keep after myself. I have more time than most." Sanara refilled Teyla's cup.

"You have never bonded with a male?"

"Bonded?"

"Yes, have a-a mate for life." Her smile beamed. "Someone you love." Teyla again noticed Sanara's glance at the door, and knew she was baiting her new friend, but she couldn't help herself.

"No," Sanara said, "I never found anyone suitable. I'm quite content by myself."

Teyla cast a knowing look and kept her thoughts to herself. "Tell me more about this gathering."

Sanara's face lit. "We meet at the fullest moon to celebrate our good fortune. It is the only time we allow ourselves to enjoy our gains to the extent of wastefulness. Any other time it is a sin, but the moon reminds us that we are entitled to one day of fullness."

"Do you set all of your celebrations by the phase of the moon?" She briefly recalled an interesting conversation with Colonel Sheppard about his moon, and the cultural taboos associated with it.

"Yes." Sanara seemed surprised. "When the moon disappears, we do not eat. That is our time of fast."

"Of course. And what of the union?" Sanara looked confused. "Colonel Sheppard calls it an eclipse, and says it happens when the moon passes between the sun and the planet. On his planet, the moon blocks out the sun for a brief time, and everything becomes black as night, depending where you are when the event happens."

The change was instant. Sanara stood abruptly and took their cups. "I have never seen that, nor should I wish to! Sacrilege!"

Teyla stood as well. "I do apologize. I meant no. . .disrespect. Please forget I said anything."

"I shall!" Sanara cleaned the cups and wiped her hands in agitation. "One does not speak of such. You are new here and I am liable to forgive you, but never let me hear speak of that union again. It isn't natural."

Teyla nodded, stunned by the reaction. Her own people rejoiced during the union. She cleared her throat and looked down at the earthen floor, then glanced up. Sanara was looking apologetic. "Here," she said, "you look so nice in that dress. Let me show you my others, and if you like, I'll make one just for you." She gently took Teyla by the elbow and guided her to the chest in the corner.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ronon's arms ached. He was trying not to show it, but they were, and the sweat dripping into his eyes was driving him to distraction. He had been taught to endure many discomforts, and indeed had in his life as a runner. This pain was more mental rebellion than anything. Malachi had accepted his offer of help with a yell of joy, patted his large shoulder, gave instructions as to the appropriate speed to turn the crank for even heat distribution, and ran off to complete more preparations. Ronon never got the chance for conversation, to say that something was on his mind, that his too-brief chat with Malachi just before their previous return through the gate had unnerved him. Not that he was a man of many words, but he had thought they would come and cure McKay and be home in time for a late meal, and a show which had come his way by one of the men he was training in combat, courtesy of the Daedalus.

He had become rather addicted to a reality trek show, where the contestants endured climbing, swimming, cycling, and running in the worst possible conditions imaginable, only to win a monetary reward. While their goal meant nothing to him, the challenge of it was appealing, if a bit meager, and he had found himself wondering how one entered such an event. But was he at his home preparing to watch the show? No. He was turning a spit while his teammate was suffering from a malady that Malachi apparently knew much about, but wasn't speaking of. Ronon's mood soured, and he gave the spit a hard crank.

"Ronon? What the hell are you doing?" Rodney was walking up to him, hands in his pockets. He smiled, amused at the sight of the rough-and-tough being reduced to turning the spit. "Having fun? Not to say it doesn't suit you."

"No." Ronon kept his eyes fixed ahead. He liked Rodney. It didn't mean he had to talk to him.

"No, no, you don't look like you are." In fact, Ronon was wearing a frown that Rodney hadn't seen in a while. He gestured at the clothes. "What's this about?"

"Our clothes are drying."

"You jump in a lake?"

"Cleaning." Crank.

"Teyla?"

"White dress." Crank. "Impractical."

"Oh yeah?" Rodney gave an anticipatory bounce as the image crossed his mind. That would be a sight. "I take it this is Sanara, she make house calls?" He plucked at his own shirt while continuing to eye Ronon.

Ronon noticed his scrutiny. "I wanted to speak to Malachi."

"And?"

"He's busy." Another hard crank.

"And left you with the spit. Well, well, how generous of him." Rodney winced and eyed the beast. "What is this creature, I wonder?"

"Heavy." Ronon reached out and took McKay by the arm, placing him before the crank and stepping back.

"What the. . .god – you've got to be kidding me!" Rodney grunted as he turned the wheel. Five cranks had him red-faced with exertion.

The unfortunate animal continued his turn. Ronon nodded and flashed a grin, leaning against the spit brace. This was a good way to keep the man from talking. "You have to turn it slowly. It has to be evenly heated." He slid down and took a seat on the ground, casually plucked a blade of grass from a nearby tuft, and chewed on the tip.

"You are an ass," Rodney grunted, gritting his teeth and turning the crank. The wind caught the flavor of the cooked meat and passed it through the air, causing Rodney to nearly stop. "Oh my g. . ."

"Yep."

"Oh," he stopped turning and hid his nose in the crook of his elbow, face screwed up in disgust. "Tell me that's not the meat I smell!"

"Unusual odor."

"Sure this isn't a distant relative of yours? I mean paint stripper has nothing on this! I could probably take this back to Atlantis and use it to fuel a generator or something. God, I hope they've discovered spices on this planet." Rodney coughed and continued to turn. "What did you want with Malachi?"

Ronon could sense McKay was physically giving out as much as he could sense the man's quest for answers. He tossed the blade of grass aside. "Your situation."

This time Rodney did stop turning, and Ronon instantly picked up the pace, shoving him aside. "You know, you've got a bit of explaining to do. Why are we here?" He held up his hand at the coming reaction. "I know, I know, you can't tell me."

Ronon was feeling a reluctant sympathy toward McKay. He could see it in his eyes; the uncertainty, the fear, and pure anger. The man had been through a lot, so he had been told, and had shown a survivor's instinct. There was something about his present demeanor that made it difficult to hide facts from him. "You want to know what's going on. I wish I could tell you." He shook his head, knowing the answer wasn't satisfactory. Ronon didn't expect it to be, and continued. "Okay, what happens to you, I've seen it before. But we have to be sure."

Rodney threw up his hands in frustration. "Oh, yeah, okay, and my not knowing the specifics about this helps. . .how?"

"It may already be too late." Ronon gave the crank a vicious pull, his eyes steady on Rodney's.

"Oh, well, that's just great. Thanks for the pep talk. Please tell me you didn't lead your men into battle on Sateda, because your optimism leaves a lot to be desired!" He was yelling, and stopped himself in astonishment.

Ronon found a spot on the ground to stare at, his muscles straining against the work. There was a bout of silence, during which he cranked and waited for McKay to continue to explode. When that didn't happen, he fully expected McKay to storm off in a huff, and was surprised to hear his voice. "My turn?"

Ronon backed away, wondering how the villagers were individually able to keep the spit turning for an hour at a time. "It's yours."

Rodney turned the spit. "So, think I should clean my uniform for this festival?"

Ronon eyed the shirt he wore with mild distaste. "You really want one of these?"

"I dunno. Looks comfortable enough. Besides, we don't know how long we'll be here, and I only packed an extra shirt." Ronon gave him a disgusted look. "Well yeah, that too, I'm just saying if I get a hole in these pants I'm in trouble."

"That's not a pretty picture."

"Got the point, Ronon, thank you."

"Rodney? What the hell?" John hurried up to them and halted as the smell caught him. "Whoa. What's going on here?"

"Cooking." Ronon said with disdain.

"You're kidding? This is slaughter! Just like the women to send the men out. Where's Teyla?"

"Girl talk."

"She's playing dress-up," Rodney added as he continued to turn the wheel. John studied the crank. "Wanna give it a go?"

"Why not?" John shook out his arms, spat on his hands, and took a grip. "Holy. . ." he grunted and pushed the crank down, then pulled it up and back towards him. "How much does this thing weigh?"

"It's heavy," Ronon agreed, and resumed his previous seat.

John decided not to say anything more. He continued his toil.

"It should easily feed everyone here, especially since I don't plan on touching it." Rodney winced in the sunlight and studied the buildings surrounding them. "I wonder where everyone is? I mean, other than. . ." he gestured toward the children who were playing in the distance, but had taken no further notice of the new arrivals.

"Must be getting ready for the party," Ronon said.

John stopped turning and looked around thoughtfully. There were no signs of activity, so apparently this gathering was to take place in another location. Maybe it was a surprise for the children who had been left behind to remain out of the way. He could see an elder watching them play, presumably his task was to oversee the young while the preparations were made. He found himself more and more curious about this gathering.

He didn't have long to wait. As the three of them sat around the pit, taking turns at the meat, more villagers came. These people did show curiosity, but none approached. John noticed long looks cast at Rodney, and the way mothers ushered their kids back upon sight of him. He sighed painfully and met his friend's eyes. His discomfort and uncertainty was obvious. He offered a small smile, but nothing more. A shout made him turn, and Malachi ran to them.

"Perfection! You men have performed excellently. We are grateful."

"I wish I could say the pleasure was all ours," John said. At least the meat smelled more like cooked flesh and less like old cockroach shells.

Malachi beamed and took both John and Rodney by the elbow. "You will need to prepare. I have clothes for you, they are comfortable. You may bathe and change. The gathering will commence as the sun sets. I must see to Sanara, then I will send for you." Malachi smiled and launched them toward his hut, then joined Ronon as he returned to Sanara's house.

The clothes were laid out on his bedding, and looked the same as Ronon wore. John picked up the shirt and held it against him. "Not my color," he groused.

"Uh-huh." Rodney was eyeing his red shirt and light pants. "Just what would your color be?"

"Oh, I don't know, a soft teal maybe, or nice burgundy. Not grey." His flippant answer disguised his growing unease. Rodney was shaking his head with the occasional wince, and John didn't like it. Not a bit. "Rodney?"

"Hmm?"

"Anything I should know?"

"Hmm? What, about this?" He lifted his shirt then dropped it back to the bed. And he landed on the bed with it.

"Rodney?" The man was lying on his back with the crook of his elbow over his eyes.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Headache again?"

"Trying to." The voice was distant.

"Yeah." He looked around and rubbed his shirt between his thumb and forefinger. "You probably need to eat." He knew good and well that wasn't the issue.

"Yeah."

John finally sighed. He sat on the bed. "Listen, don't think you can't talk to us. We're here for you. We got your back on this."

"Talk?" Rodney snorted. "I've been trying to talk. No one's talking back. Besides, I don't even know what 'this' is. Maybe it won't happen anymore. I've felt fine all day."

"Except for the headache."

"Except for that."

"We just want to make sure that. . .you know. . ." John checked himself and rose, sensing Rodney sit up behind him.

"Make sure what? I'm not crazy? That the stress and strain of everyday Atlantis hasn't caused me to lose it?"

"It's not that."

"Tell that to Carson! He's trying to thrust the Evil Heightmeyer at me. Not that she isn't hot, but our bedtalk probably wouldn't lead to much."

John was saved from answering by the arrival of both Ronon and Teyla. Ronon had changed, his labors at the spit requiring it. And Teyla. . .well of course he stared. He had seen her in a dress before, but never something so. . .feminine. And simple. And charming. "Nice." She smiled at his approval, not asking for anything more. Her gesture suggested, 'what, this old thing?' while her smile accepted the compliment. Even Rodney temporarily forgot his tirade.

"So," she said, and the men turned as one to stop gawking, "where is this gathering?"

"Not sure. Malachi said he would send for us," Rodney replied.

"Sanara had to leave, and sent us over here," Ronon supplied. "So I guess we all go together."

"Yeah, about that, look, I uh. . ." Rodney waved his hand in the direction of his clothes, "of course I guess I could just go out back and . . ." John had already removed his shirt, and stopped at this pants, his eyes finding Teyla's.

"Oh! I–I will wait outside." Teyla pointed over her shoulder with a smile. She tried not to let inappropriate thoughts cross her mind.

Maybe it was the dress. She hurried out.

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The gathering was held beside the ocean, which surprised the team, for there had been no hint of salty air on the wind, nor a view from the high hills. The reason for the near evacuation of the village was clear; it was a damn long way by cart, and by the time they had arrived the moon was high and the festivities were well underway. They were greeted with loud hails and cheers, and pulled from the cart and pushed towards the fire and the food tables. The creature they had roasted for hours was placed on a nearby table with no other foods whatsoever. John tapped Malachi on the shoulder. "Why put it way over there?"

He looked surprised. "That is the offering. At this time we must share with everyone, especially the gods."

"So you're saying . . . we don't eat that?"

"Schranknot?" Malachi looked startled. "Why, does it please you?"

"NO! I mean, no. I mean . . . no, it doesn't."

"It is tough and rancid. But the gods enjoy it."

"And . . . for that I thank them." John sighed with relief and was led to a tray full of fruits and breads. He saw slices of meat further down, and saw Rodney practically being fed by Sanara who insisted he try everything on the table. With an evil grin he joined them. "Well?" He gave Rodney a knowing look.

"Oh my god, Colonel," Rodney muttered around his mouthful, "this is the best stuff. . .here. . ." he dipped three fingers into a bowl and scooped out a large dollop, then unashamedly shoveled the food into John's mouth before he had time to react. Fingers were wiped on a cloth, and Rodney moved on to sample more. John stood there, frozen, reluctant to swallow. Rodney had just stuck his fingers in John's mouth, was he seriously supposed to eat that glop now? But the taste settled on his tongue and he found himself grabbing bread and going for more. Rodney was right. It was damn good stuff. Even Ronon, who could pack it away, was having more than his usual share. Teyla had caught the attentions of a young man and was grinning away his advances. The colonel looked up as the moon emerged from the cloud cover and filled the area with a smooth, white light. The villagers fell silent, then erupted in cheers and prayers and raised cups. John glanced at Rodney and saw him caught up in the glee, his own cup raised, and he smiled at John. At least he was happy. Must be the food, though he was pretty suspicious of the content of the cup. He felt a heavy presence at his shoulder, and turned to Ronon. "What is it?"

"We have to talk." Ronon wasn't as happy as the others. His face was serious, and behind him Malachi's was as well.

"Where?"

"Beside the water." Ronon pulled John by his arm and Malachi followed. They walked down the beach, then turned and hiked through the foliage a short distance before emerging back beside the salt water.

The sands were crystalline. The moonlight spun the light into diamond fire as it reflected, forcing John to shield his eyes until his vision adjusted. It was like standing on a thousand miniature pearlescent lightbulbs. "Why here? I can't see."

"Your vision will adjust. Not all of our beachfront is like this, but this is the place."

"Place for what?"

"You friend must be tested here."

"Tested? I don't like the sound of that." John turned to Ronon, who said nothing. "Listen, I've kept my mouth shut around Rodney as regards to what little I do know, so you mind letting me in on the rest of the tale?"

Ronon sighed heavily, which greatly disturbed Sheppard. The man rarely let his emotions show, unless it was anger. Apprehension was never convincing in a warrior's guise, and to see it now made the bulky man seem smaller. His troubled gaze turned to the water. "When I was a boy, I heard stories of a being that traveled from person to person, inflicting pain and torment on all he touched. It's nothing but evil. It used to travel from one host to another, trying to find a way to return home."

"You sure that's not some sort of kiddie tale to keep you from wandering into the woods late at night?"

"Why would I want to stay out of the woods at night?"

John chose not to explain. The implications suddenly struck him, and he paled. "So you're saying this, this _thing_, is trying to take Rodney's body?"

"In a manner of speaking." Malachi stepped forward. "It travels through the gates. It was here shortly before you arrived. We had hoped it would leave with you."

"That's why you ushered us back through the gate? Oh, thanks a lot!" He stepped forward in anger. "We came here in peace, and you send back a monster that's affecting one of my team."

"We intended no harm. And it did leave us. It was killing us, torturing us."

"So everything's okay now, because it's tormenting us instead! Odd sense of diplomacy you people have here!"

Malachi met his advance, nose to nose. "You journeyed to us. We tried to avoid this. This is the first gathering we have been able to have in three cycles. We were afraid to bring the villages together, for fear it would spread through them. At first it was undetectable, for the moon can bring on a kind of madness, but this was different. This was violent. It had to go, and when news arrived of your coming through the gate, we thought it was a good way to send it back."

"And just how do you send it back? I mean, you can't pick this thing up and throw it!"

"It is the creature's own choice. Whether or not it decided to go was a risk we were willing to take."

"And who the hell are you to decide?" John yelled out.

"It was not intentional! We just thought it would use the transport to leave us."

"Well, your plan backfired!"

"Sheppard," Ronon said calmly, trying to return to the issue at hand.

John sighed and regained his temper. "So, now what?"

"Now we find out if this entity truly resides in your friend, or if your friend is merely a bouncer."

"And what the hell is a bouncer?" John looked from Ronon to Malachi.

"A bouncer," Malachi explained, "is a person who can sense the activities of the entity, and experience it. He shares the essence of the entity. He is in touch with it." He frowned. "Usually the entity has trouble remaining with one host, and is pushed away to find another, but not before causing irreparable damage."

"But either way, this thing is in his mind."

Malachi shook his head. "I don't think so. Not yet. If he is a bouncer, and I believe he is, then his association with the entity isn't known to the entity itself, at least not yet. You see," he threaded his fingers together, "a bouncer doesn't take the entity's own thoughts. He is being pulled toward the strongest emotion in the vicinity of the entity, and that is usually his victim."

Sheppard was feeling more and more uneasy. "I don't get it."

"He sees what the victim sees," Ronon supplied.

"What kind of fucked-up, metaphysical thing is that?"

"We don't know how much control this thing has," Malachi said. "If he is a bouncer, then it is imperative we try to sever the link before he's driven mad."

"Just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it? Why can't we tell him this?"

"We can," Malachi said, "but not until I have worked the rites. If he is a bouncer, we may be able to use that."

"How?"

"By tracking the entity through him. If caught at the right time, we can rid ourselves of this plague forever."

Sheppard put his hands to his head and walked a few steps away. "Okay, now this is sounding more and more like a very bad idea!" He turned. "If he does this, then these nightmares continue. He'll go crazy. You mean to make him go through this?"

"The choice would be his." Malachi looked at Ronon.

"Sheppard . . ." Ronon sighed, and leaned in as he gripped John's arm. "A lot of this information is new to me too. But you know I wouldn't hurt McKay." Ronon's face held more emotion than John was used to seeing. It made him wonder just how much more he knew.

"Right." John glared at Malachi. "I still say we find another way, should it come to that. But for right now, let's see what we're dealing with."

Malachi nodded. "When the moon is highest, we will bring him here. And we will know."

"Hang on, hang on," John had turned his face to the sky; now he looked back at the festivities and then to Malachi, "how do you know about this? If Ronon heard this as a child back on Sateda, then how do you know about it here?"

Malachi looked somber. "The entity originated here."

Sheppard turned to Ronon, but he said nothing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The festivities continued. The people ate and drank and frolicked, and Teyla and Rodney joined in. John and Ronon stayed aside, however, awareness of the upcoming event waylaying any attempt at relaxation. John even questioned Malachi as to whether Rodney should be drinking quite so much, but Malachi insisted it would make the trial easier on him. So John watched and waited as he hovered on the edge of the crowd. Every once in a while Rodney caught his eye and sent him a questioning glance, once which was answered with a smile and nod and lift of his own drink. Teyla and Sanara were sitting on a bench, heads close together, giggling like schoolgirls. It was a side of Teyla he had never seen, but figured had to be buried deep down somewhere in amongst the warrior. It was good that she could be so carefree. But she did keep an eye on Rodney, and that pleased him more. She may have made a new friend, one with whom she could have nice little girly-chats, but her priorities were not questionable. Not to mention, well, she was stunning, and watching her was a pleasure. He always felt she was beautiful, but it was easy to just think of her as Teyla, and not as an alluring woman. He needed to be reminded now and again.

The moon shone directly overhead. Malachi signaled to John, and he in turn sought out Ronon, who was caught between Teyla's amusement and Sanara's blatant attention. The latter was shyly listening to his explanation of. . .something. . . and staring with the adoring look of a woman with a crush. She's got your number, he thought humorously, and cleared his throat as he approached. "Uh, Ronon, as much as I hate to interrupt, we have some business to attend to." He sent a gracious smile to Sanara, and allowed his gaze to linger on Teyla, sending her a secret message.

"Oh," Sanara muttered, "this would be the test for your friend." She turned to Teyla. "I'll explain over another drink."

Teyla's eyes widened slightly. "Explain, but . . . I am going with them." Sanara shook her head which just made Teyla more insistent. "No, you don't understand. He is my teammate as well, I should be present."

"You can't. Women are not allowed."

"This is an exception." Teyla sent John a pointed look.

John wanted to have her there. He wanted that strength, that rationality, and started to tell this lovely lady where she could get off, that they were a team. But something in Ronon's face held him back. "Teyla, maybe you should stay. . ."

"Colonel!"

"Now, we'll fill you in on all the gory details, I promise," he said lightly, seeing Malachi's displeasure increase at her insistence. He walked away, heading for Rodney.

"I will not allow you to dismiss this!"

It was the fiery temper of a righteous woman. He knew that. And he knew she had every right to be there. John led her aside, wincing as she subtly pulled away. "Teyla," he said in a low voice, "you know I'm not trying to keep anything from you, hell, you probably know more about this than any of us, and after this . . . test . . . I want to hear it all. Something is going on here that I don't understand, and no one is talking. I'm not much more enlightened than our," he shifted his gaze and stared, "drunk, dancing physicist over there. . ._dancing_?" The situation was surreal enough without watching Rodney bob like a lost buoy. He refocused on Teyla. "I promise you, once I know what's going on, you'll know. But right now we have to play by their rules. Rodney's life depends on it." His eyes finally landed on hers, and saw guilty submission. "Now I did find out a bit more tonight. I'll tell you everything I know, later. Just play along. Talk to Sanara. She may have a different take on all this, right now we need all the info we can get. Okay?"

Teyla studied him, and nodded. She wasn't trying to be difficult. She knew that, and he knew that.

John gave a nod in response. "We'll meet up after this gathering is over and trade facts, piece together this puzzle, solve it, and blow the hell outta Dodge."

"Yes." She still wasn't happy, but she was reassured.

They took a different path this time, going through the trees closer to the waterline and emerging in the small, private clearing beside the sea. Malachi stood at the water's edge with a confused Rodney. He spun as John and Ronon showed up. "Now what's going on?" Demanding and uncertain eyes glared over the two men. "And where's Teyla?"

"She's talking with Sanara. Sulking a bit cause she's missing the show."

Rodney folded his arms. "What show?" He wavered slightly, obviously intoxicated. John could only hope it would mean the task would either be easier, or he wouldn't remember a damn thing.

John tried to sound more flippant than he felt. "Remember when we said we were going to find out what's wrong? Well, here we are."

"I'm the show?" Rodney's voice sank, and apprehension filled his eyes. He suddenly looked sober.

"Well. . .yeah."

Rodney turned to Ronon, then to Malachi.

Malachi pulled out several small pouches. "First you must remove your shirt and shoes."

"You're kidding me."

"Rodney," John threatened half-heartedly, "just do it."

Malachi merely looked at him.

Rodney hesitated. Slowly he knelt down and unlaced his boots and removed his socks. The shirt was stripped over his head and tossed aside. His mouth was set in a firm line, and he did his best to stand proudly.

"Raise your arms above your head."

Okay, this was more of a challenge. Considering the amount of partying he had been doing – which, come to think of it, was highly unusual for him so what the hell was that about – he was reluctant to even think about raising his arms, but complied. Malachi lit an herb in a large sea shell dish and fanned it until a sweet smelling smoke swirled about him. A deep chant rose from Malachi's throat while circling Rodney, infusing him with the luscious scent. John and Ronon watched intently, neither seeming uncomfortable by the ceremony. Which was more than could be said for Rodney.

Once he was more sweet-smelling than any man had a right to be, he was told to lie back on the sands and look up to the moon. Rodney cast a wary glance at John, who just nodded, and sat on the sand a few feet away from his friend; close enough for reassurance, but out of the way so as to not interfere. Rodney reached down. The sand was cold and beady underneath his palm, unlike anything he'd felt before. Laying back felt like reclining on a bed of pearls. He looked at John once more, uncertainty clear on his face, then focused his attention on the night sky.

The orb of the moon above him was much larger than he was used to, looking very much like the moon rising over the mountains back home, when it was so large and heavy that any upward lift seemed impossible. This moon was so heavy it would fall right out of the sky and right on top of him. As he stared, it grew larger, rounder, whiter. The deep chants continued.

John wasn't sure what to think about the situation. He kept up a good show for Rodney, but the truth was he was about as uncomfortable as he'd ever been, watching his friend half-strip and lay there while god only knew what was going to happen. He also felt like he should be going through the trial with him, as his superior officer, or as close as they got, and the guilt of not being able to help was eating at him, even as he tried to squelch it. He noticed every twitch in Rodney's arms, watched his chest swell and subside with each breath. Rodney's eyes were pinned on the insanely large moon above them, and his eyes widened. John watched, holding his breath, and wondered just what his friend saw.

_Running. Branches whipping his face. Fleeing an enemy that couldn't be seen, nor heard. The only sound was his blood pounding in his ears between the catches of his breath. His legs were lead, his arms were numb. He collapsed in a heap, pushed to his feet, collapsed again. He was spent. He couldn't move. And above him, a foul breath told him he'd been discovered._

"Malachi. . .what is that. . ."

John frowned at Rodney's whisper. He obviously saw something in the sky, something above him. Hopefully not inside him. He looked up, hoping to see what Rodney saw, but the only object was the huge moon making its slow orbit. Rodney was becoming agitated, his breathing quickening, and yet Malachi did nothing.

_The man circled above him like a bird of prey until it merged with the moon filling the sky above him. He stared as it faded from white to light grey, then darkened. The circular line contorted, the edges sharpening, the inner surface melting into the face of a demon._

He stopped breathing.

_Eyes blazed over him with suffocating darkness, the features clouded yet as piercing as the edge of a rock. It leered at Rodney, mouth gaping, huge craters like molars yawning at him, swallowing him, his large stone visage pressing slowly down towards him, filling his sight, the weight crushing his body . . ._

John was up on his knees in the sand when Rodney cried out in fear. Ronon pulled him back down, but his own frown showed he was seconds away from whipping Rodney up and carrying him through the gate. John watched with growing concern, then anger, as panic passed over his friend's face. As he just watched. Only watched, not knowing what was going through that brilliant mind, not having a clue. Damn!

_The face pressed ever closer, and Rodney couldn't move. The air grew heavy, the demon-moon had heavily devoured the whole sky and was still coming at him, slowly, down, down, down, completely filling his vision. . .it was bearing down on him and he couldn't move . . . ._

Rodney's breath caught and he panicked as the stone leaned in to crush his skull, but just touched the tip of his nose, and stopped. He gasped for air as it suddenly disappeared. Closed his eyes. Prayed. And the scream came.


	3. Chapter 3

"McKay?" John was up, and this time Ronon didn't even try to pull him down. John scrambled to his friend's side and was pushed violently away. He tried to reach out and stopped when he saw Rodney's eyes; dilated and scared. It was obvious that Rodney didn't know what was going on, he was still trapped in that dream world, or wherever he was. "Rodney! Rodney, you're okay! It's me, come on! It's over, it's over, you're okay." He hoped to god it really was and braced himself on the strange shore, leaning over his friend.

Rodney looked at him, fear and uncertainty clear on his face. His whole body shook, his breath coming in rapid pants, and no amount of consoling could calm him. Out of desperation, he rolled and launched himself into the ocean, frantically jumping the breakers. He lost his balance and fell, submerging, then surfacing, still pushing into the sea.

"Rodney, wait!" John rushed in behind him, the water sluggishly pulling at his legs as though to purposefully keep him back. Malachi was used to the odd waves, propelling himself across the water as Rodney took a breath and dove under.

John was waist deep and about to dive under when they surfaced. Rodney struggled in Malachi's grasp, both men fighting, one wanting the shore, the other, the waves. John made it to them and wrapped his arms around Rodney's slick chest as Malachi held his wrists, and together they forced the terrified man back to the beach. Malachi drove Rodney onto his knees, and held the shaking head between his hands as John hovered.

"Doctor McKay! What do you see? You must answer!"

Rodney shook his head, gripping Malachi's hands, trying to tear them away, gasping, his posture slumped, his gaze fixed on Malachi's chest, yet seeing nothing. Malachi's hands fell to grip his shoulders as he looked keenly at the man, searching for a sign that would tell him what he needed to know. Rodney finally looked up and muttered three words, "The moon fell."

John instinctively looked up, but the moon was still there. He saw Malachi look sharply at Ronon, and asked, "What? What is it?"

"It means we were right," Malachi said slowly, "he has seen the entity."

"Because the moon fell?" John was crouching beside them, watching Rodney closely, trying his hardest not to grab him away from the large hands that were holding him.

"It comes in many forms. It would stand to reason that, tonight, it chooses the moon."

"Because of your ceremony." John started to speak again when Rodney tore himself from Malachi's grip with a strangled cry. He stumbled in the odd sand, and John could feel his fingers brush the man's bare ankle before he jerked away. Lightning speed meant nothing to John as he watched Rodney run from them at a pace he nearly couldn't match. It was desperation that caused the flying tackle he would regret later. Holding him down was like wrestling a bear. He straddled Rodney's chest, pinned his wrists, and tried to avoid the spitting and biting. "Malachi! What the hell's happening?"

"Hold him!" The voice behind him was rapidly gaining.

John was trying. "What the hell is this?" he yelled. He knew panicking wouldn't be a good thing, but he was damned close anyway.

"Just hold him." Malachi was at his shoulder, out of breath and digging in his robe for something. Ronon had a firm grip on Rodney's legs, but it did little good as Sheppard was tossed aside. Ronon instantly leapt forward and took his place. It was easy for the heavier man to hold Rodney down, and the struggles ebbed. Malachi forced a solution down Rodney's throat and pinched his nose, forcing him to swallow. And they waited, each listening to the terrified cries that eventually died away.

After a time, he was calmer, and still. He looked around in confusion, found himself embarrassingly pinned down by a worried Ronon, and saw John leaning over him with Malachi over his shoulder. The moon was just past high and normal, not super-sized, not falling on him. The breeze was cool, the trees whispered amongst themselves, probably wondering what the hell was going on. "Ronon?" he whispered, twisting his wrists. He sucked in a pained breath. "Ronon, god, get off."

Ronon released Rodney's wrists and sat back on his heels, not letting the man up. Malachi leaned in. "Doctor McKay?"

His eyes still looked a little wild, and his glances darted about as his rubbed his wrists. The moon, no, it was still there. There was no face, no creature in the night. "Is it gone?" he asked in a small voice.

"Do you know where you are?" Malachi asked.

"I'm – on the beach. Is it gone?"

"Why are you whispering, Dr. McKay?"

"So it won't hear me," Rodney said quickly. "It listens, it listens all the time, it knows I know, but it won't stop and it knows I know it knows. . ."

"Won't stop what, Rodney?" Malachi kept using his name, grounding him.

"Won't stop the killing. Won't stop the pain. It knows I can see," his breathing quickened, "oh god, I can see what these people are going through." He sent a shocked, pleading look to John, who was sitting beside his head. "I see them die, I can feel it. I live their pain and fear over and over again, I die with them, god, what's happening to me?"

Malachi nodded at looked at John "It's what I thought," he said quietly.

John's eyes left Rodney's for only a second to ask, "This bouncer thing?"

"There must have been contact in the gate between the entity and Dr. McKay when you were sent back. They touched, but were unable to connect. Rodney carries a piece with him, just enough to know what's going on."

"Then why does he see through the victim's eyes, and not this thing's?" John asked. He rubbed Rodney's shoulder as the tortured man closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.

"Because that is what the entity wants. It projects an image to frighten the soul. It attacks from the inside, and it is more frightening to be the victim than to be the attacker. The entity can sense the fear, and uses it. As I said before, the bouncer is pulled toward the more intense emotion, and that is fear."

"Sounds like a two for one deal for this entity. One being physically victimized, and another having to watch it."

"And feel it. Yes."

John watched Rodney focus in on the conversation. "So tell me again what the purpose of a bouncer is," he said for Rodney's benefit.

"The bouncer senses the entity. The feelings and emotions are so strong, it bounces from the entity to one who has been in touch with it, usually one who ends up being the host."

John's attention jerked away from Rodney. "Host? You didn't say anything about being a host!"

"It is known for the entity to change forms in order to increase longevity. If it is dying in its current body, then it is on the search for a new one. A bouncer is one who is being prepared."

"And how many are bouncers for this thing?"

"Only one."

"Of course." John sat back. Of course just one. And of course it would be Rodney.

"There is one thing," Malachi said, leaning in. "The bouncer is the only one who can rid himself and the universe of this threat."

"Of course he is, because we can't make this easy or anything. Just how is this supposed to happen?"

Malachi merely raised a brow and looked out to sea.

John followed his eyes, and remembered Rodney's desperate flee. The way he struggled, the way he didn't want to resurface, it was almost like . . . "No. No way."

"There is no other way. If he can be convinced and do this when the entity inhabits . . ."

"He is not suicidal, and it's not going to get that far!"

"But it's . . ."

"The answer is NO!"

Rodney responded to the raised voices and squirmed underneath Ronon, trying to rise. "Guys, come on," he said in a stronger voice, "Let me up, you're crushing me."

Ronon slowly shifted to the side, and helped Rodney to sit up. "I'd apologize, but. . .not really."

"Not all that surprised." Rodney was breathing much more easily, more calmly, though he still spoke in a soft voice. "Just tell me, were you on my chest before or after the moon fell?"

"After, I think."

"So much for the ordeal being psychosomatic," Rodney said, and accepted a canteen that John had filled from the gathering. He drank slowly, then continued, "I've never felt that before, like I was here but not here, and the part that wasn't here was more important that the part that was." He shook his head in dismay and hid his face in his hand for a moment before looking up. "Does that make any sense at all?"

"No, not really." John's voice was soft as well as he crouched beside Rodney. "But I'll take your word for it." He still had one hand on Rodney's arm, and he'd be damned if he was going to let go.

Malachi was rummaging again in his pouch. He pulled out an herb, told Rodney to open his mouth, and placed it underneath his tongue. Rodney made the worst possible face and pulled away, but Malachi clamped his hand over Rodney's mouth. "Do not dare spit it out. Not yet."

"It's rancid!" Rodney muffled. "Gonna be sick."

"It will pass. Let it work, then spit it out."

John could swear Rodney was literally turning green. It would have been amusing if he wasn't so damn worried. After a moment Rodney was allowed to spit, and he glared at Malachi. "I was having fun, you know, real fun, for the first time in years. Then you put me through the wringer."

"It was for your own good," John said as they helped him stand. "Can you walk?"

Rodney did stand, and wavered. "Do I have to go back to the gathering? Cause I really, really just want to sleep for about eight millennia."

"Sleep is what you need, my friend. I will drive you back myself. You two," he nodded at John and Ronon, "enjoy yourselves. I insist. Everything will be fine, and I will see you when you return." He picked up Rodney's discarded shirt, socks, and shoes in one hand, and took Rodney's elbow in the other. They took a different route, heading back to the village.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The morning was too damn bright. Rodney could feel the light pressing on his reddened lids, forcing them open though he wanted nothing more than to just keep them closed. Everything was blurry, which was a good enough reason to succumb and close his eyes again. A soft cool cloth pressed against his forehead, a gentle caress tousled his hair. He smiled, remembering when he had come down with the fever when he was very young, back when his mom was actually. . .mom.

The hand withdrew quickly, and Rodney opened his eyes. It took a moment to focus, then settled on Teyla quickly wringing the cloth out over a small basin. Rodney blinked a few times, then realized what had happened. "Teyla, what did I say?"

She merely smiled. "It is normal for a soothing touch to remind you of a parent. How are you feeling?"

The question was weighed heavily before it was answered. "Not so good."

"You've had a fever most of the night. Malachi says it is normal." She slapped the cloth flat and started to fold it. "I should have been there."

To do what? Chase him down the beach? Under any other circumstances. . . "I-I'm glad you're here now. You do have a gentle touch." He slowly wiped at his face, feeling so not like himself.

"I'm am told it is feminine wiles, but I am glad you approve." She placed the fresh cloth on his head. "Ronon and the Colonel have gone back through the gate to confer with Dr. Weir."

"I see." Rodney closed his eyes.

"Everything will be fine."

Brows raised over closed lids. "Everyone keeps saying that."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dr. Weir looked astonished. Carson looked downright scared. He was unable to sit still, and paced back and forth behind John's chair. "Do you mean to say this thing is trying to take over his body so it can kill others?"

John winced. "Thanks Carson, I hadn't put it in quite those terms myself. But yes, that's one possibility."

"And right now he can feel and see what the victims feel and see?" His voice remained shocked.

Elizabeth raised her hand. "Wait. Explain this again."

John sighed and leaned his elbows on the table. "Okay. The way I see it, this entity is like a nightmare that becomes real. It's like a psychic link. The bouncer first senses the fear of the victim, picking up on this projection from both the victim and the entity. The entity feeds upon this. I'm guessing a bouncer is a person who is compatible with the entity. It is capable of actually inhabiting a body for short periods of time before wearing it out. Being a bouncer not only feeds the entity emotionally, but it can temporarily provide a physical link in addition to a psychic one."

"Would sedating him help until we can figure out a solution?" Elizabeth asked.

John looked at Carson, who gave a shuddering sigh as he stopped. "I don't know. If he is sedated I suppose it could prevent the entity from completely taking over, simply because it wouldn't want to be in a body that is motionless, and therefore useless. On the other hand, if it is attacking Rodney mentally, what's to stop it from finishing him off and making him completely insane?" He realized what he said, and checked himself. "Can it really not find another body?"

"I don't know, but I don't think sedating him is a good thing. For all we know this thing is in his head already, and I don't want Rodney trapped with it." John leaned back in his chair, studying the table before him as he thought out loud. "Malachi suggested an alternative which I'm not at all fond of."

"Which is?"

John gave a small shrug. "Rodney could drown himself."

"What the bloody hell?" Carson leaned over John, one hand on the table and one on the back of John's chair. "You can't be serious, man!"

"Didn't I say I'm not fond of it?"

Carson pushed away in irritation. "You didn't have to bring it up at all!"

"I only did because I thought it might help find a solution!"

"How? By finding which way is less painful for poor Rodney to do himself in?"

John leaned forward, his chair turned, angry eyes focused on the doctor. "I didn't say that, I said I was trying to find a solution!"

"Oh, aye! A permanent one, by the sound of it!"

"Gentlemen!" Weir's fists were clenched, her expression stern. "This is difficult enough without the two of you making erroneous assumptions." She steadied her own breathing. "Is he in any pain?"

John shook his head, still looking at Carson. "Not until he's facing a vision, and afterwards. Other than this he's plain ole' Rodney."

"It is safe to bring him back here?"

John winced. "I don't think so, no."

"And can Carson do anything for him on the planet?"

John held Carson's eyes. He saw the pain there. Rodney had known the medical doctor longer than any of them, and they had a firm friendship. He understood the pain, and knew he was about to cause more. "Probably not, no." Carson's slump confirmed his fear.

"Then I suggest you return to the planet and find a solution there. In the meantime, Dr. Beckett will be on call for immediate departure should the need arise." Her eyes were wide with conviction, her point not to be argued.

John was chagrined, and rose to leave. He stopped at her gentle tone. "John. Let's bring him back home in one piece, okay?"

Carson turned, his demeanor softening. John merely gave a nod, and exited.

Carson wasn't going to let it go. He caught up with John in the hallway. "Are you certain there is nothing I can do to help?"

"Sure. You can sit on his chest the next time he wants to take an unexpected swim."

"Colonel," Carson stopped him by taking his arm. He let go as John turned to face him impatiently. "You need your own rest. At least share a drink with me before you return."

"There isn't time."

"Doctor's orders, Colonel. I'll not have you returning in this state. It'll do Rodney no good to see it, and you know that."

John inhaled deeply, and gave in. "Guess I can fill you in a bit more."

"Aye, I'd like that."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John returned to the village to find Rodney chopping wood. The sight was so unexpected, and so unlike Rodney, that he stood stock still and took in the view. Rodney's already tight shirt was wet with sweat, his arms glistened. His face was red, and he was breathing more heavily than was healthy. John just knew he was going to fall, and when he saw the man stumble slightly as he reached for the log he'd just cut, he called out, "Are you trying to give yourself a heart-attack?"

Rodney turned and dropped the axe without picking up the wood. "Colonel." He panted and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm.

John surveyed the mess. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Rodney was nowhere near catching his breath.

"It looks like I just walked into a bad dream."

"Funny you should phrase it that way."

"Funny that the image has come up twice in one day." John's brows were knitted close. "You haven't . . ."

"No. And yes. Sort of."

"Not a very coherent answer."

"Best you're going to get." Rodney picked up the axe again. He sagged, the blade narrowly missing his foot.

John made a motion to grab for it. "Are you insane? Chopping wood?"

"Possibly."

"You've never done anything physical in your life."

"I resent the implication. Besides, they don't exactly have a lab here, you know. No intranet. Just a lot of plants and woods and clothes and cooking. Mundane."

"So you decided to chop wood."

"It was that or chopping heads." Rodney wielded the axe once more with trembling arms, and this time John managed to catch it before it completed the upswing. Rodney's back jerked, and he glared. "Now who's insane? Are you trying to wrench my arm out of socket?"

"You're gonna hurt yourself. Now let's get something to eat, I'm hungry."

"Yeah." Rodney let the axe fall from limp hands. "You're right."

John picked it up and propped it against the log, then regarded his friend. "You okay? You know, with the. . ." he pointed to his head.

"No. Thought currently I'm as sane as you, which admittedly isn't saying much."

"Peas in a pod, I'd say." John scoffed and led the way back to Malachi's hut.

In fact, Rodney did seem fine, especially after getting some food into him. His expression had lost its former haunted look, his eyes brightened, and he went about trying to find something to do that required less physical labor. "Gotta be something here worth while," he groused, and the sour look that accompanied the complaint set John's fear at ease.

"Maybe you can manage a feat of engineering to make that devil spit easier to turn." The look Rodney sent him made him smile, but later that day he found Rodney turning the crank slowly, studying the mechanism.

Since he hadn't been able to complete the festivities of the previous night, his friends decided to hold a small, impromptu bonfire. Malachi consented happily, showing Teyla a small clearing where they could have some privacy. Sanara made it a point to help Ronon gather wood for the fire, under the amused scrutiny of Rodney, who insisted to John that precise mathematical ingenuity was required for the proper placement of the wood. After his tower tumbled twice, he shuffled aside and let John set up the perfect campfire, all the while muttering that hell, there hadn't been a use for a campfire in Russia because the outside temperature was cold enough to freeze the flames solid. John merely poked at him with the sticks in hand, and managed to get a wan smile out of his friend.

The moon rose once more, still disturbingly large, but otherwise normal. It lay half hidden behind the tall trees, peeking through on occasion to make sure the inhabitants were still there to worship.

It was John's idea to start the game of truth or dare. Several drinks in found the group feeling very relaxed without any threat to their surroundings. They were careful not to take in too much, to stay alert. It was one thing to get drunk with the villagers, and entirely another to do so alone on a strange world, but they all felt the strong desire to chill out, as John put it. Rodney seemed ready to down the whole keg that was presented to him. It was no mystery that the fall of night and the rise of the moon had him on edge.

"Teyla," John said, holding in a belch and adjusting his numbing rear on the log, "how old were you when you got your first kiss?"

Teyla frowned, swallowing the evil brew heavily. "I do not believe that is any of your business, Colonel."

"Oh come on, Teyla. It's part of the game!"

"Would it matter to us as team mates, or even friends, if I were to answer?"

John's brows raised. "I, uh . . ." he caught Rodney's smirk, "no, I don't guess so."

"Then I decline to answer."

"You'd rather take a dare?"

"I thought these questions were supposed to be of a 'did you or didn't you' nature?" Rodney half-asked.

"Depends on which rules you play by."

"Oh, I see, and this is the John Sheppard 101 class of perfect ways to make an ass of yourself in front of your friends." Rodney thumped his chest with his fist and made no attempt to hold in his belch. No apology followed.

"Oh nice. You don't need pointers from my book."

"You do better!"

John pulled back and let loose a belch that had Teyla wincing in the wind. "You men are weak."

"Is that a challenge?" John teased.

"Now, I wouldn't want you to change your worthy opinion of me," Teyla smiled, and stood, excusing herself.

Rodney tilted his cup toward her an appreciation. "One classy lady right," he swallowed deeply, "right there."

"Yeah, she's something." John leaned toward Ronon. "Of course, she's no Sanara."

Ronon hid his face in his cup. "Cut it out, Sheppard."

"Oh, come on! She's cute!"

"Colonel! What is it with you and drink and setting people up in their love life?" Rodney snorted and stared at the fire.

"I was just saying!"

"You're just being juvenile!"

Ronon refilled his cup. "She's nice, but she isn't really my type."

"What is your type," Rodney snorted, "a female Amazon-Klingon? Someone who throws furniture while you read love poetry?"

"And duck a lot," Rodney added with a grin.

Ronon raised a brow. "Sound interesting."

"Unbelievable." Rodney continued to stare into the fire.

John and Ronon exchanged a rather conspiring glance. "And what would you consider a good date, Rodney? Showing a girl around your lab, infusing her with technobabble so that she can't remember who she's with?"

"McKay's babble would remind her who she's with and ruin it," Ronon said flatly. They waited for an answer, for some witty repartee. Both men knew the teasing was childish, and they did it deliberately.

But Rodney just stared into the fire, saying nothing, his eyes widening, his face pale. He stood slowly, half-reaching for the log he had been sitting on. His back was bent with the weight of something unseen, his eyes bright. John rose to his feet and slowly walked around the flames, casting a sidelong glance at Ronon, who came to his side and asked, "McKay?"

Rodney shook his head ever so slightly, eyes still pinned to the fire, hand still reaching down to the log as though he were to fall over. John cursed, recognizing what was about to happen. "Rodney, what do you see?" The voice was low but intense.

"I-I. . ." he shook his head again and winced, then leaned. Ronon caught him as he went down and set him on the log. Rodney's eyes never left the flame. "Darkness. Trees. God, not again, I can't. . ."

John was suddenly feeling very sober. He knelt down in front of the nervous man. "It's okay, Rodney. Where are you?"

"It's not me."

" . . . Right. Then," John shook his head in confusion, not sure what to ask, "who are you?"

"I don't know." Rodney's voice sounded rushed, almost panicked. "I-I-I can't tell!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, we're here. Look around you. You see anything familiar?"

"No! I can't. Something's behind me. . .I have to go. . ." Rodney's breathing quickened. John grabbed his arm before he could stand.

"Where?"

"Away. That's all I know, oh god. . ." his eyes widened even more and he stood, trying to pull away, ". . .shit. . ."

"Rodney?"

"Colonel! I'm scared. I mean th-this person is scared to death, it's coming. I've never been around when it comes like this, but it's coming, I usually just sense the actual attack. . ." his breath was coming in snatches like he had been running, "coming closer. . ." he started to back away. John kept a grip on his arm and walked back with him, allowing him to move as needed but reluctant to let him go.

"What's coming? Rodney!"

"I don't know! I can smell it, it's rancid." His face pulled tight. "Like death." He whipped his head around to the trees behind him. John grabbed the other arm as well, turning him around, stabilizing him. Wild eyes stared back, eyes that fought for reason. "Let me go," Rodney begged.

"No."

"John, please. . ."

The use of his name scared him. "I can't do that, Rodney! You know that!"

"But it's coming, it's . . .oh no . . . " Rodney's focus was turned inward, and he suddenly yanked back, his face a mask of horror. Ronon reached out and caught his arms, resisting the frantic motions. "Wait, stop!" Rodney cried out. "Are you crazy?" The voice rose to a fevered pitch. "You'll kill me!"

"We're helping you. . ."

"Then LET ME GO!" Rodney tore himself away and launched towards the trees. John cursed under his breath, feeling an all too familiar sense of deja vu. Teyla could be seen in the distance, and John called out to her while sending Ronon after Rodney. She joined him quickly, and together they followed the sound of crashing shrubs and yelling.

Rodney was obviously terrified out of his mind, whether from what he could see or what he was "channeling" John had no clue. But he did know that this was far from a safe situation. Dammit to hell. "Rodney!" They continued the chase, crushing the plant life around them, stumbling over gnarled roots and stones. John slapped his palm on a boulder and whirled around it, and fell over his friend.

He was crouched down, staring at his palms. Teyla knelt down and took his hands in hers, then yelped and pulled away, startled. "Blood. . .Rodney?" She grabbed his hands again. "Rodney, let me see!" She forced his hands down and looked at his chest, then ripped his shirt open. "Colonel!"

"Shit!" John whipped off his jacket then pressed it to the heavy flow of blood, easing Rodney to the ground. Rodney just stared at his hands held before his face, his breathing still rough. "It killed her, it tore into her chest." His breaths slowly quieted, and became shallow. He gasped as his body seized, "She's dying, she feels it. I feel it."

"Dammit, Rodney!" John grabbed his chin and peered into his face, forcing his bewildered eyes to meet him. "Rodney! Listen! Stay with us, okay?" What the hell was this? His eyes flew over his friend. Ronon took over for John, pressing the jacket hard against the wounds.

"Dying – she's scared," he whispered quickly, "she's scared and she hurts. God, someone go to her, she's all alone."

"Where is she?" Teyla had no idea what made her ask that, but Rodney pointed weakly in response.

She looked to Sheppard. "How does he know this?"

"Just go! Don't let her die alone, no one should have die alone . . .god . . . ."

"McKay, you're hurt, what happened to you?" Ronon asked quickly, ready to go on a hunt.

"Too late. It's too late." His voice was beyond a whisper, almost a breath. "She's gone."

And so was the blood.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was high overhead, heating the air. Ronon frowned in displeasure at the man walking around in the haze. McKay shouldn't be standing, much less walking. He should be dead. The amount of blood flowing from that wound was enough to put a seasoned soldier into the ground. And yet he walked, without a mark on him.

He had carried the man back. Refused to acknowledge the protest that he was fine. It was not right. He should be dead. Sheppard had glanced at his blood-stained jacket and tossed it into a corner, not knowing what to say. It was gone this morning.

Ronon didn't know what to do. He watched, afraid to touch McKay again. If the man looked his way, he turned his gaze elsewhere. He knew his teammate was becoming frustrated by his actions, by his silence and avoidance, but he need time to. . .think. And even now, sitting on a long bench outside his hut and watching the kids play innocently, concentration was impossible. Why could McKay not walk somewhere else, why did he insist on staying within his line of vision?

His frustration was compounded by the approach of Malachi. The man had not been able to explain what had happened to McKay, why his wounds were inflicted, then healed with no scaring. Nor had he been able to find any evidence of a murder deep in the night. "How are you, my friend?" Malachi asked simply.

Ronon did not answer.

Malachi leaned against the wall of the hut where Ronon temporarily resided. "You ask many questions that I can not answer, and you resent me for that. I understand. But _you_ must understand, this is not of my doing. I did try to warn you. I told your team to return through the gate."

"Which we did," he responded flatly. "Too late." Ronon had been breaking a twig into equal pieces between this thick fingers as his mind worked out the problem. His eyes stayed on McKay, he made no attempt to look at Malachi. Which would be the worst sight, he was hard pressed to say.

Malachi made a move to sit on the bench beside Ronon, then reconsidered. "Your Colonel Sheppard and Teyla are still searching for the body. I have to say the lack of evidence proves the possibility of Dr. McKay having a – a fit."

This time Ronon did turn towards Malachi. Malachi wished he hadn't. "A fit?" His voice was poisonous. "You call this a fit? He was bleeding. We couldn't stop the flow of blood as it streamed from his chest. You didn't see it." He leaned in. "Do not dare to presume we are lying, or that McKay has had a 'fit'". He spat out the last word as his eyes fixed on the man he resented watching. "He should not be alive. He should have died instantly. No wound, no mark, no evidence. He should be dead." Ronon paused sighed, flinging the rest of the twigs into the distance. "And I can't stop thinking."

"And what is it you're thinking?" Malachi managed to sit on the corner edge of the bench, and saw the man consider his options, to tell or not to tell. "I'm not your enemy, Ronon Dex. I wish to help Doctor McKay as much as you. I would enjoy nothing more than to smite this demon and rid the people of it forever. But I need you, and you need me. And we both need Doctor McKay. If you keep these feeling and fears," he nodded as Ronon looked at him sharply, "yes, fears, to yourself, then we can help no one. Now is not the time to harbor secrets and ill-wishes that may be fed upon." He waited.

Ronon wasn't a man to hide his feelings, if they needed to be heard. He threaded his fingers together and stared at them, then looked off into the distance. It was obvious to Malachi that talking was hard for him, and he respected that. But he also saw the need in his eyes that countered such a habit. "I can't explain it. It's. . .it's in my gut. I don't understand what's happening to him. And I wonder if it can happen to any of us."

The words were honest, the tone unexpressive. Malachi responded with as much honestly as he had been given. "It can. The entity can take any host. But this situation is different, because it hasn't taken Doctor McKay as a host. It is out there, somewhere, but we don't know where. It is the one killing, so far as we know. Your Rodney is merely an extra set of eyes."

"No. He's in training." Ronon glared. "I know military tactics. This thing is desensitizing him and preparing him. What if McKay starts the killing?" His eyes darkened.

Malachi was surprised by the man's insight. "That is something we must stay aware of."

It was an answer Ronon didn't like. He stood quickly. "I have to walk."

Malachi stood with him. "Talk to him, Ronon. I know you are a runner. You are strong, stable, the survivor. Of all people, he needs you by his side right now."

Ronon heard the words, but had no intention of acting on them. Not until he found himself face to face with McKay, who had come around the corner of his hut. Malachi promptly vanished.

He saw the man start. He fully expected Rodney to mutter an apology and push his way around, but he didn't. Instead Rodney muttered, "Sorry," and lowered his gaze, then looked up with such a hangdog look that Ronon thought he had been kicked. Well, of course he had. Stupid.

"You okay?" he asked Rodney gruffly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Rodney nodded faintly, his sight leaning towards the ground, carving out an escape route that his body was about ready to follow.

But to his surprise, and Ronon's, the larger man took his shoulder and squeezed it hard. "I'm glad," he said in a low voice.

"Me too," Rodney responded quickly, and in an amazed voice. He studied Ronon's face as though looking for the catch.

"Let's walk." Ronon talked more openly if moving, and while he was personally convinced that Rodney would have little care to share his fears with him, Ronon could at least fill him in on what he knew.

They headed towards the trees. "I've seen this happen before," he said. "It wasn't pretty."

"Everyone seems so set on trying to make me feel better," Rodney huffed. "Too bad it isn't actually working."

"I just want you to know what you're in for."

" 'I've seen this before, it wasn't pretty'? I'd rather not know, thank you!"

Ronon rolled his eyes and sighed, pulling Rodney to a stop barely before they had started. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Rodney crossed his arms. "Were you able to stop the other thing from happening?"

"No."

"Then this is a useless conversation." Rodney turned on his heel.

"McKay," Ronon stopped him again, "you don't understand. I wanted it to happen the last time."

"What?"

Ronon sighed. "It was this guy. A soldier. He led his people into senseless battles with little preparation. All he cared about was racking up the points. He went to a world where the entity lay in wait. I had heard stories about such a creature, but thought it was nothing more than tall tales. Until Zorlexx."

"The world was called Zorlexx?"

"The man."

"Sounds like a sleep-aid."

"Are you going to listen, or not?" Ronon asked, and paused. "He was consumed by this thing. Many of the bravest lost their lives to his folly. I tried to take him out."

"And?"

Ronon shrugged and looked away.

Rodney thought this meant the end of the conversation, but had an itchy feeling that there was something Ronon wanted to say, and wouldn't. Otherwise, why speak about it? "Ronon, did you see this Zorlexx person when he was possessed by this entity?"

"I did."

"Did he survive?"

Ronon merely looked at him.

"They couldn't save him?"

"The entity . . .killed him. But not before he murdered his family and friends. And each time it happened, he came back to himself just a little more, just to see what he had done, then he would be snatched back to kill again. The entity finally drained him completely and left him to find another host."

Rodney had paled. "Ronon, when did this happen?"

"Shortly before I was captured to become a runner."

"And that was the only time you've seen this entity, right?"

This was the hard part. "No. I have seen it since."

Rodney faced him, his eyes wild. He knew what Ronon was going to say, and he knew because, "you were one. It tried to take you as a host, that's how you knew."

"I was there when Zorlexx died. I saw it, I stared into the face of death as it left the body. Years later I encountered it again. When it discovered what I was, it wanted no part of me."

"It's afraid of the Wraith?"

"No." Ronon turned. "It is afraid of me. There was no conflict in my killing. I led no people into battle. I was alone, and acting to survive. There was no fear for it to feed upon, and the only anger I held was against someone worthy of the anger."

"It can pick up on that?"

"It is very clever."

"And oddly moralistic. Or not. Guess I can't talk him out of it, make him leave me alone."

"Him?"

Rodney glanced at him. "Yeah. It's always a man."

"Interesting."

"Why, what was it for you?"

"Formless."

"Ah." They had resumed walking, like comrades. It was the most the two had talked to each other frequently since their initial meeting.

Rodney swallowed hard. "Then you know what I'm going through. You were able to figure it out."

"It was never in me. But I have an idea."

Rodney let out a shuddering breath. "It's like part of me is fighting for my sanity, but I don't feel insane. I keep getting a chill, a notion that something is going to happen, then it doesn't. But I can tell you this. When it does happen, I'm not going to be able to stop it." He sighed. "The things I've seen over the past few days. . .I can't even describe it. I don't want to. I try to pass it off as nightmares, but there is this underlying feeling of dread that I can't shake."

"And it's getting worse."

"Yes." The voice was quiet.

"I thought you were dead."

Rodney jerked to a stop. "What?"

"Last night." Ronon had stopped as well, and regarded him evenly. "You should have died."

"I wasn't injured."

"You were injured. This thing it does now, I've never seen it. I don't understand it."

"That's why you've been avoiding me? Because I didn't die?"

"Yes."

"I see." Rodney blinked into the distance. "Guess I can understand that in some sort of convoluted, warrior sense."

Ronon stopped, and toed the ground with his boot. He rolled his shoulders and surveyed the area. "I like you, McKay. You're an ass. I like that."

"Huh? Uh, thanks. I think you're an ass too."

Ronon grinned wildly. And somehow an understanding passed between them, that Ronon would watch his back, and Rodney would let him without question.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John stood before the gate, and tapped his radio. "Elizabeth? You rang?"

"How's it going, John?"

He tried his hardest not to sigh. "Been better. Been worse."

"I take it there's no progress, then?"

"Well . . .no."

He could practically hear her fold her arms around herself in frustration. "Major, we really need you both back here. Now, is there a chance of finding an answer to this, or not?"

He hated ultimatums with a passion, and this one sounded heartless. "We're doing the best we can, Elizabeth! We can't exactly rush these things, you know. Especially since we don't really know what we're dealing with."

"Has Rodney experienced any more visions?"

"You could say that." He briefly explained the events of the previous night.

It was several moments before Elizabeth spoke, and when she did, it was with a bit more understanding that before. "Is there anything we can do to help from this end?"

"Just keep Carson on standby. Things could get a bit hairy around here."

"Understood." A pause. "Is Rodney near you by chance?"

"No, I made it a point to leave him at home."

"How's he taking all this?"

John shrugged, forgetting that Weir couldn't see. "As well as can be expected for someone slowly going mad and trying not to. Nightmares at night, nightmares in the day. I should probably get back to him, you know, make sure he hasn't done something – unRodney-like."

"I want updates."

"Heard that."

"And be careful." It was expected.

"As always. Sheppard out." He closed the connection, and the Stargate.

And stood there.

Well, what the hell was he supposed to do? It wasn't like he could take a gun to this thing. It wasn't like he even knew where it was, or what it was, or if it could be killed. Well, it could be, but the way it could be killed wasn't an option. And in the meantime he had to wait until Rodney decided to go all freakish on him just so he would know what was going on. But even the episodes were becoming closed to him, so that things would happen without his knowing.

There were times when his job really sucked.

It was the subtle yet rapid change in his friend that was the most disturbing. Hour by hour he could feel the man he knew slipping away. A sudden glance would show that something was going on inside that brilliant mind, something foreign. It was to the point where Rodney couldn't express what he was seeing, he would just shake with a frightened, wide-eyed stare. He didn't even run. All of his energy was spent in the visions, and each time he came out a little less himself.

A soft footfall sounded behind John, pulling him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Teyla approaching. She smiled gently. He hadn't realized until that moment just how much he had come to rely on her stability. "How is Dr. Weir?" she asked.

"Like the rest of us. Tense."

"It is understandable. Especially since all she can do it wait."

"Like we can do any better?" He realized he had snapped, but Teyla didn't seem to mind.

"Rodney has taken to his bed with a headache. I thought I would take the opportunity to see how you are feeling."

John's gut twisted. "When?"

"About an hour ago, I believe. I thought it best to leave him alone, in fact he insisted on it. He seemed quite irritable, so I was all too happy to leave him to his rest."

"And you did? You just left him?"

"He insisted, and in no uncertain terms! Ronon was sitting outside his door as I left, I am sure he's keeping a close eye on Rodney."

Well, that was a little better. "Okay. We should get back then."

"These . . .visions . . .does a headache usually precede them?"

"Been known to happen."

Her face turned down into a frown. "Then I was wrong in leaving him."

"Nah, not if Ronon's there. I mean – it's Ronon, for god's sake." He chuckled unfeelingly. "What's Rodney gonna do, pull on his dreads? Use them to tie him to the spit?"

But Teyla still looked worried. "We should hurry. He was feeling very poorly."

"I'm sure he's fine." John tried to walk away nonchalantly, but the stiffness of his steps betrayed him.

His fears were confirmed when he found a group of people hunched beside an unconscious Ronon, and a door leading to an empty room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Malachi sat at the water's edge. He pulled his pouch from within his robes and carefully loosened the string binding the top. A pinch of herb was pulled and placed into a flat seashell dish.

He sat back on his heels, his gaze lingering over the waves before closing to him. His body was rigid, then relaxed. He allowed the visions to come to him.

Running. Forever running, forever fighting the rage within. Lost. Tortured. Such anger, such blackness. Abandoned. Wanting nothing more than to hurt, to kill, to do as was done unto him. Malachi reached further, braving the coldness in his chest and the fear that stabbed him from all sides. He was there. And he listened.

_Why have you come to me, _the voice said. _I told you never to come to me._

You need help.

_I never asked for your pity._

I didn't offer any.

_Then leave me._

I can't. You know that.

_Then kill me._

I can't do that either.

_You condemn me to live in eternal hell._

No.

_It is the way of things._

You have to let him go.

_I will not._

Malachi could feel the ache in his bones. His concentration altered, and his eyes flashed open just as the large wave struck the shore, sucking him into the frothy depths.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Rodney? Answer me!" John plowed though the foliage, shoving aside the large leaves and bent bramble. He knew there was little chance in finding his friend out here, but it wasn't like he was going to just sit around and wait for him to show up. Ronon was still down. For all he knew, Rodney was in a panic, caught in a living nightmare, sitting on a stone with blood on his hands. Or he could be just fine, but panicked because he took out Chewie. The runner would not be in a good mood when he woke. Hell, under the circumstances John felt he would probably run too.

It was the fact that Rodney, he of no combative skill whatsoever, was able to take out the large man to such a degree that stunned John. The blood had streamed from Ronon's head wound, and yes, it looked worse than it was, but it was bad enough. There was no sign of a weapon, no stick or rock, meaning that more than likely Rodney took the weapon with him. And upon checking his friend's pack, he discovered the small pistol that Rodney carried was missing. But Ronon's wound wasn't a glancing shot, say from a stray bullet, thank goodness, more likely a hard blow from the butt end of the pistol. It was still a hell of a whack.

John stumbled over a twisted root. He cursed. A moment later he was on the ground, having found another damned twist.

But that wasn't the only twist, he discovered, as he looked up into Rodney's eyes.

The gaze was scarily intense, and aimed down at him. He had seen Rodney looking intense before, usually when hard at work on an experiment or while caught in a life-and-death situation. It generally followed the hysterical screams of pending doom.

But this . . .this was different. Rodney was a stone, and John's first startled instinct was to cry out and back away. But this was Rodney – granted, it was a Rodney that took down an Amazon with a single blow – but it was McKay. Geeky McKay. Who looked damn frightening at the moment.

"Rodney." John kept his gaze locked as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. Rodney didn't move, he just followed the motion, unblinking. He looked pissed off, except there was no emotion in it. The expression was the most stoic, threatening thing John had ever seen in his life. "You okay?" Stupid question.

Rodney just stared, then finally did blink. He shifted slightly, as though coming back to himself. "I wasn't the one who tripped," he said in a low, uncertain voice. He seemed to be wrestling either with a level of compassion he wasn't familiar with, or the notion that he really didn't give a shit and was vaguely commenting out of a sense of duty. The result was a rather cold response.

"No, and I'm fine, thanks for asking." John rubbed his hands on the back on his pants, not wanting to make a sudden move. "But I'm not the issue here."

Rodney took a step back. "Oh, I see, so you're saying I'm the issue."

"I'm saying we're worried about you," John said carefully.

He seemed to consider that. "How's Ronon?"

"You remember that, do you? I don't know."

"You don't know?" Rodney's eyes flickered. "What do you mean you _don't know_? You left a teammate who could be dead to come traipsing through the woods? So much for being reliable! What ever happened to 'never leave a man behind'?"

Well, that sure sounded like McKay. "Circumstances being what they are, I thought I'd risk it. He isn't alone and his injury isn't life-threatening, at least not to him. But you should have a damn good explanation for your actions when you get back, because I'm not so sure he's gonna just forgive and forget."

Rodney snorted. "Are you kidding?" A wild grin crossed his face, and he spread out his arms. "He'll love me! Big, hairy warrior type gets bested by not-so-wimpy superior geek. We'll be the best of friends."

There was something about the sarcastic way Rodney spat out the last sentence that made John's stomach turn. "Maybe. Let's go and find out."

Rodney's confidence wavered. "Back to Ronon? He'll be pissed! Are you trying to kill me?"

The change in demeanor threw John for a dizzying loop. He risked a step forward. "No, actually I'm trying to save you."

Rodney took a sudden step back. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Nothing!"

"You really want to take me back there, don't you? Well, I'm not going."

"Rodney, I was kidding. I doubt Ronon would..."

"I don't give a crap about Ronon!" The tone had changed again, and a wildness came to his eyes. Rodney started to shake, rubbing his hands together, then making fists, rubbing first one, then the other.

John could almost sense darkness in the air. "Let's get you out of here."

"No. Just go."

"Rodney . . ."

"I said leave!"

"Not without you." The statement was pointed, and booked no argument.

Rodney crumpled slightly, lost in an emotion he couldn't control. "No. I can't." He looked around rapidly. "I can't go back like this."

The stone visage John had met had been replaced with that of a scared child. John reached out to him. His chest ached, and he was angry that he had no idea what to do. "We have to see Malachi. He can stop this."

"That's bullshit." Now he was a scared child with a potty-mouth.

John conceded. "It's better than being out here alone." He touched Rodney's arm, and jerked his own hands up in a defensive gesture as Rodney freaked.

He snatched himself away, and in a flash his pistol was trained on John, aimed at his head. Both hands gripped the weapon tightly, and he aimed again, this time for the heart. "Don't make me do this," he whispered desperately.

"Well, you know me, I never make you do anything you don't want to do." John's tone came across as light, yet was weighed with desperation. He continued to hold his hands up in a placating manner, trying not to feel intimidated by the dull metal. The problem was, he knew Rodney was an increasingly good shot. Any uncertainty about welding weapons was gone. Rodney switched the gun to his right hand only, aiming down the length of his arm with a confidence that wasn't normally his. The hand that held the gun was steady, the grip firm. The grim look on his face betrayed his dislike for killing, yet the glint in his eye showed he was perfectly capable.

Rodney slowly started to back away, his gun still poised, and John wanted nothing more than for Ronon to materialize, or Teyla, or to just be able to snatch the gun away. Or just to wake up to a different day with a coffee and bagel, and all this long behind him, safely solved. No such luck. "Rodney, listen to me. It's got hold of you. You have to fight this.'

Rodney cast jack a dubious glance down his arm. He readjusted his grip. "I'm . . ._ sick_ of fighting," he said through clenched teeth. "It's all I do anymore."

"I know, buddy," John said softly, his body wanting to take a step forward. "But I'm not going to let this thing win, and neither are you. This is why you've been having those dreams, remember?"

"They are not dreams!" Rodney yelled, once again re-establishing his grip on the weapon.

"Right, right, the visions. It's all a part of this, and now it is in you, and – damn it you have to trust me!" John started to make a move towards the gun and stopped as it was re-aimed directly at his head. His breath caught; time was running out. "We'll get through this, just, god, Rodney please just give me the gun. Come on." He wasn't sure what he was hoping for. . .maybe he wanted Rodney to just say, "okay" and hand the gun over. Maybe he wanted him to collapse in a sobbing, remorseful heap and then he could take the gun away. Better chance there. He heard a noise behind him, a voice calling his name.

Rodney jumped, and his face darkened. The eyes deepened. A smug smile played on his lips, and he flipped the gun around in his hand. "You want this? You'll have to catch me first." The smile broadened into something crazed, almost feral, and he ran towards the sound.

"Rodney!" John took to his heels.

They crashed through the brush, leaving slapping at them in odd shadows of black and green which flickered in the moonlight. As a result John saw the larger shadow too late, and ran bodily into Teyla, knocking her hard to the ground. He hesitated for only a moment to help her to her feet, and frantically looked around for Rodney. He was gone.

He cursed and turned to the Athosian. "You okay?"

"Yes, just winded." She was bracing herself with her hands on her knees. His eyes darted around, and she followed him as he ran for the trees, then skidded to a stop, uncertain as to his direction. "What has happened?" she yelled at his back, suddenly nervous.

John could only stare into the distance. And it was at that point that everything tumbled downhill.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Malachi listened to John's story with grave attention. His gaze flickered from his warm hearth to Ronon and back again, seeing the anger and distrust on the runner's face. He said nothing, and nothing needed to be said. But Ronon's eyes never left him.

Teyla ran her fingers over the rough grains in the table as she listened to John's account. "So there is nothing we can do." Her voice was sad, yet there was an air of defiance, like she dared someone to agree with her.

"There's something we can do," Ronon said from his prop in the corner. His head was bandaged, but rather than coming across as an injury it just made the man look more imposing.

"Oh, yeah?" John sat back. "Please, fill me in," he muttered lightly.

"Malachi can call him. He can get him out."

"What are you talking about?" John turned to the older man. "What is he talking about?"

"I assure you, I have no idea."

"Liar." Ronon hadn't moved, and there was no need to.

John expression darkened as he turned to face Malachi. "You care to tell me what the hell he's talking about?"

"Not really."

Ronon snarled and shouldered himself away from the wall. "I"ve seen your types. You protect them. You guard them. You own them."

"What?" John exclaimed, as Malachi yelled, "That's not true!"

"Then you tell us what is true!" Ronon yelled back.

Malachi nearly smirked. "If I didn't know better, it seems you have come to like Doctor McKay."

"He's grown on me. Now talk."

"I'm with Ronon," John said, taking back control of the situation. "What are you holding back from us?"

"I have told you the only way to be rid of it."

"And I said it wasn't going to happen!"

"Then nothing has changed!" Malachi snapped.

John leaned in angrily. "My friend is out there slowly rapidly losing his mind. I'll be damned if I'm going to let you sit there and tell me there is nothing we can do."

Malachi opened his mouth. That was when they heard the gunshots.

John's eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet with the others close behind. The few people outside were yelling, and running off in different directions as others peered out of their homes. There was a distant scream, and they took off toward the sound.

The darkness crowded them, hampering their motion. Another shot was heard, and they headed in the direction of the shot, splitting up to cover more ground. Nothing could be seen, and the screaming had stopped.

John jumped around a tree and down a slight hill, and was promptly knocked onto his ass by a woman. Reflexes kicked in and he quickly reached out and grabbed her ankle, pulling her down. She fought back in terror, getting in a few good punches which hurt like hell. He climbed on top of her, his hand pressed against her mouth as he talked frantically. "Listen to me! You're okay, you're okay! Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you! OW!"

His indignation at her latest blow stopped her. Her eyes found his, and her struggles ceased as he removed his hand from her mouth. "John?"

"Sanara?" He quickly backed off and pulled her to her feet. He took in her disheveled, filthy appearance. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

Sanara nervously smoothed her hair back from her face. "I was walking to the water, and this – this _thing_ came at me."

"Thing?"

"It was dark. It bellowed."

Thing? Could it be that this entity was now tangible, and loose? "Did you see McKay?"

She shook her head rapidly. "No. Just the creature."

John looked around, his hand on Sanara's arm. "Right. Get back to the village. Lock your doors. Tell everyone to lock their doors."

She grabbed his arm. "You must come as well!"

"I can't."

"You must!" She stopped quickly, taking in the anger in his eyes. "Of course, your friend. Go. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

The fear evaporated into a tenacity that seemed more normal to her. "Go!"

He gave her arm a quick squeeze and sent her on her way as another gunshot exploded into the silence. He zeroed in on the direction, and ran.

Maybe Rodney was firing at the creature. Maybe it had left him, and he was firing at it, that was the only explanation he would accept. "McKay! You hear me out there? Where are you?" Another fire sounded, and a startled, high-pitched yell followed. He skidded to a stop then ran toward the shot, which had been closer than the others.

He saw her, and his heart stopped in his chest, not only because she lay on the ground motionless, but because he was certain that wonderful white dress had no red in it originally. John ran to the body and collapsed beside it, tearing off his shirt and pressing it to the wound on her abdomen as she choked in pain. "Fuck! Ronon! I need you! RONON!" He ran a hand through her hair, "Teyla! Look at me, you're okay, you're okay. We'll get you back to Dr. Beckett, you're gonna be fine. But you gotta stay with me, okay?" He heard Ronon call his name, heard the sound of a body crashing through brush, and saw pure fear as he crouched beside the bleeding woman.

"Sheppard. . ."

"Go get help, find Malachi, tell him to get the cart. We've got to get her to Carson. Go!" Ronon nodded, his dark face tinted with shock, and he took of into the woods on the way to the village.

John refolded his shirt and pressed it once again to the wound, torn between dismay and relief to hear Teyla groan at the pain. "Hey, there! Yeah, I know it hurts, yeah, that's right, I know. Come on, open your eyes."

Teyla did so, and the pain within startled him. "John . . ."

He forced a smile. "Finally manage to get you in a nice outfit and look what you do to it."

Teyla managed a small grin. Her face tightened suddenly as she drew in a sharp breath. "Colonel, I. . .have to. . ."

"No, no, just lay there. You don't have to do anything."

"No . . .not that." He breath caught, and she forced out the words. "Not. . .his fault. Don't. . .it's not his fault."

John leaned back slightly, studying her face as the blood chilled in his veins. "Whose?"

"Rodney . . ."

Froze in his veins. "Rodney. . .shot you? _Rodney_ shot you?" The pressure on the wound eased as John soaked up the information with a hint of shock. He recovered quickly, and reapplied pressure. "No. He was firing at that creature, you – got in the way."

"It was– wasn't him. I mean," she gasped in pain, "it was, but it was that thing. . . you have to find him."

Shitshitshitshit. "Jesus, Teyla . . ." John lowered his head and sighed as she closed her eyes. "Hey, Teyla? Teyla!" His patting her cheek resorted to full fledged, desperate slaps as Malachi arrived with a small cart and a bundle. He shoved John aside and instantly pulled a long cloth out of his bag. He tore at her dress and looked at John.

"You must raise her a little. I have to wrap this around her." John noticed there was some kind of green goo on the material, like crushed wet leaves. He very carefully raised her, slightly, and Malachi went to work, binding the wound. "This will help to still the bleeding," he said quickly, "and I brought warmroot for the pain. Your friend Ronon has gone for help. We will take her on the cart, you must ride beside her and steady her as much as possible. The bumps and roots will cause an uneasy journey, and we cannot risk further tearing."

John cast one look behind him, then regained his focus. "Right, right, let's just go." They lifted Teyla into the back of the cart and covered her with blankets. John lay beside her, holding her in his arms while whispering reassurances he wasn't sure she could hear. In the trees nearby, powerful, dangerous eyes watched, gleaming from a disturbed face hidden in the shadows.


	5. Chapter 5

Carson arrived quickly, carrying a slew of medical equipment and a gaggle of doctors. His examination was quick, and the transport back to the stargate was steady as they stabilized the young woman. He wouldn't talk to John other than to say he would do what he could, not to worry, blah blah blah. The most emotion that shown through the focused, professional demeanor was when John said he couldn't go back through the gate, not yet. Carson hasn't asked where Rodney was. He didn't know Rodney was the one who had shot Teyla. He simply assumed the man was in trouble, since he wasn't around, and John let him. Not like he was wrong, and there wasn't time to fill him in.

Once the gate disengaged, John turned and stared down Ronon. He wanted to beat the man to a pulp. You know, just to balance the pure RAGE he felt at the whole shitty situation.

Ronon was anything but stupid. He braced himself and puffed his chest out.

The open invitation was all John needed to come back to his senses. "Pfft." He turned away, waving his hand at Ronon in dismissal.

But Ronon wouldn't be waved away. "We can't do anything here." He steered John away from the gate and shoved him toward a tree. He reached down and picked up a large branch, ripping the twigs from it until it was relatively smooth. He handed it to John.

And John beat the shit out of the tree with everything he had.

The sound of someone clearing his throat caught John's attention, and he stopped mid-swing, only to throw the stick to the ground and run at the man watching him. Malachi was thrown to the ground with a raging one hundred seventy pound mass of anger on top of him, shouting at him. "For the last time, what the hell is going on?"

Malachi gasped for breath, looking to Ronon for help. The large man just folded his arms. He was on his own. "Please," he said, "get off."

John seethed, but backed off. He roughly pulled Malachi to his feet. "I'm tired of the games," he hissed. "I have one friend dying, and for all I know the other one is too! Now unless you want to add to the numbers I suggest you start talking!"

"The entity has taken over Dr. McKay."

"No shit. Why?"

"I don't know."

"Wrong answer." John grabbed two fistfuls of robe and swung the poor man around, slamming him back hard against a tree. "Why can't he just bounce this thing on to someone else?"

"You don't understand." Malachi worked at the hands gripping his clothing.

"No, _you _don't understand! Ronon said Rodney was being desensitized. Now in my book that sound a lot like being used! Now you said that a bouncer only senses what the entity is doing, that the bouncer is one in a long line of people that the entity terrorizes. So why can't this thing just bounce off somewhere else and leave my friend the fuck ALONE?"

"I don't know!" Malachi yelled. "I have tried to make sense of it, and I can not! I have tried to persuade it to leave, but it will not!"

John narrowed his eyes. "You – you've contacted this thing?"

Malachi gave a weak nod. "I have."

"You've CONTACTED this thing, and you didn't tell us?" John gave a hard shove and backed off. Otherwise he would have put a bullet through that pea-brain, and then they really would have been screwed. Ronon looked like he was ready to eat something Malachi-ish.

The older man slumped against the tree. "It isn't anything of consequence. There is no relationship, merely an exchange of words."

"But you can talk to it."

"As it allows."

"So you can find out where Rodney is."

"No."

John turned away in fury. When he turned back, his gun was aimed at Malachi's head. "Try."

Malachi slowly raised his hands, and nodded.

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Jekyll and Hyde had nothing on this. Rodney winced and gasped painfully as he bent double, wrapping an arm over his stomach, trying to hold in his sobs. Any other time he would be able to contain his emotions to some degree. He was seriously pissed that he couldn't do that now, which just added to the near out-of-control anger he was already feeling.

He fell to his knees in despair. Tear stained eyes looked up and found the dark sky showing in patches amongst the black branches. "Why?" he wailed. "What the hell have I ever done to you? What did I do to deserve this?" There was no verbal answer, but an onslaught of images that made him grab his head and cry out.

Putrid death. Vile sickness. Fear, so much fear, so much pain and hopelessness. Screams that tore from the chest, threats and terror. Eternal blackness. Ice cold numbness. Trapped with no hope of escape.

Rodney's forehead touched the ground. He clawed the dirt and fought for control, knowing he would lose himself completely if he didn't. Teyla . . .god . . .he remembered the heat of his body temperature on grip of his gun, and how it had felt so cold when he first aimed it at her. He remembered the initial joy in her eyes at finding him, which turned to such pain as he fired. He remembered standing over her, looking down at her, and saying hot, vile things, seeing her eyes tear with disbelief and pain . . .Rodney growled in anger and slammed his fist into the mulch.

Mulch. His breath caught for a moment as he snatched up a handful.

Oh god. Nononono . . . he remembered the vision he'd had of the man running in the forest, the only vision he had experienced in Atlantis. Falling into the mulch with the monster behind him.

It wasn't a vision. It was a premonition.

He was the victim, and he suddenly could feel the presence not only behind him, but within him.

He stood and ran.

But there was no escaping it. He ran forever, it seemed, and everything within grew darker; his thoughts, his fears taking hold, his body crying out in fatigue and giving up on him. He could feel it, this cancerous evil that was tearing him apart from the inside.

Desperately he ripped off his shirt, flinging it into the trees as he ran past. He clawed at himself, wanting it out, that greasy, black hell that was settling in his mind. But he couldn't escape, there was no way to outrun the evil within him. Scratches turned into cuts, and cuts into gashes that ran with blood as he clawed at his skin. The sobs became wails, his flesh crawled, he could feel everything within him turning black and rotten.

There had been only one time during this ordeal when he didn't feel so mutilated and confused inside. That was when he had held the gun to his friend's heart. He had felt powerful then, wrongfully so, knowing deep down that he was about to do something terrible and feeling an incredible, soaring high as a result. He battled it out, saving his friend's life, and yet he lost. He found Teyla, and shot her instead.

This had to end. But there was only one way to do that.

A gentle light washed over him, surprising him. He was at the beach. The waves pounded the shore, the moon was above him, and huge. He half wondered if it would come crashing down upon his head again. It stared down at him, uncaring, leaving him alone to face his fears. And he felt scared.

He stepped into the water.

He could feel the blackness within him, feel it grow in response. There was power out there in the water, a glimpse of an ending. A sense of a word grazed him, flashing in his mind, and an image of Malachi presented itself in a confused head. Rodney squinted into the distance, not understanding. The entity sensed this, and raged.

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"RODNEY! Damn it!" John lifted the bottom of his re-acquired black t-shirt, wiping the sweat from his eyes. He let the hem drop back down and stood motionless, catching his breath. The bloodied peasant shirt had gone back with Teyla. She had clutched it in agony, as it was pressed to her, and wouldn't let go.

"I do not think he is in this area." Malachi was wincing.

Ronon turned to him. "We've been searching for only an hour. There is plenty more ground to cover."

"That isn't what I mean." Malachi was doubled over, his hands on his knees.

"Then what do you mean?" John had no patience left. He snatched Malachi to attention by the robes. "Listen to me," he said in a low, poisonous voice, "if you value your life, now would be a good time to talk."

There was little else to be done. Malachi could no longer protect the entity, and he wasn't sure he should. "He is at the water."

"The water?" John released him, taking a step back. "How do you know this?"

"Because I can feel it. The entity was . . .joyful. Now it is frightened."

"YOU can . . ." John turned away in anger, then rounded on him. "How the hell can you sense it? I thought only Rodney could sense it."

"Let's just say I have an odd connection to it."

"An odd . . ." He said nothing for several minutes, letting his breathing settle, feeling his heart thump madly against his chest. "You have contact with this thing. And you didn't tell us."

"I wouldn't call it contact. It only allows me in as it chooses."

"Why?"

"Because I created it."

John's face fell into disgust. "_What?_"

Malachi looked as sad as John had ever seen a man. "I didn't create the entity itself. But I created what it became. The truth is, I don't know what it is, or where it came from." He ran a hand over his face, wiping the sweat onto his sleeve. "I was praying beside the water," he said quietly. "We had been plagued with a sickness, and I was trying to rid the village of it. This thing came to me, all light and good will . . .and I was so desperate." His eyes pleaded for forgiveness. "Children were dying. I forced the sickness onto this creature, to take it away from us."

John didn't know what to say. "Obviously it didn't. Not really."

"I didn't know. I didn't know it would swallow it so." He paced in agitation. "It took it all. The hardship, the pain, the suffering . . .anything inherently bad or evil. It wasn't supposed to. When I wished the bad away, I meant the sickness, not . . . ." he waved his hand helplessly.

John could only shake his head. "I don't believe this. You made it crazy. It's like," he fought for words, "now it hates, and it only knows to act on that hatred."

"Which it did out of an act of love for me. How ironic." Malachi chuckled without humor.

John was confused. He turned to Ronon. "If he is responsible for this thing, how is it you've heard of it?"

Ronon just shook his head in distrust, his dark eyes glinting.

"As I've said, it travels," Malachi supplied.

"And why aren't you affected? How come you're not one of these bouncer things?" John snapped.

"I think I feels I am the only one who can help it."

His demeanor had changed. There was no longer a charade, no mask of kindness. Malachi was stripped bare, showing more to the man than John could have possibly imagined was bred from this simple village. "You're not originally from here, are you?"

"No."

"And this sickness happened, how long ago?"

"Hard to say. At least eight generations."

"Eight . . .how old are you?"

Malachi smiled sadly. "Sometimes it seems I am older than the universe itself."

John turned quickly, fuming. Maybe Malachi was showing his true colors now. Maybe he was still deceiving them. "Get us to Rodney, now," he demanded threateningly.

Malachi merely nodded, and led them away at a run.

The moon was starting to dip down behind them when they ran out through the trees and onto the shore. The moonlight filtered through the trees onto the pearlescent sand, still bright enough to blind them for an instant. John fought to catch his breath and shielded his eyes, surveying the shoreline to find a lone figure curled on his side, facing the tide which swept in and over him. John hesitated for only a moment before sprinting to his friend.

He skidded in the sand beside the prone body as the next wave came. It broke around him in a white spray before sucking him back. John braced himself on the sand, sensing the arrival of Ronon and Malachi, and ignoring it. He lay his hand across Rodney's forehead.

"Rodney?" he whispered

Rodney was naked. He stared at nothing, his eyes glassy, his arms wrapped tightly around his pale torso. His skin was clawed and raw, his blue lips moved as his name was spoken, but there was no sign of recognition, and no attempt to move otherwise. John felt of the clammy, freezing skin, knowing Rodney should at least be shivering. But he wasn't.

"Dammit, what the hell happened to him?" he demanded of Malachi as he tore off his shirt and lay it over the frozen man.

"I don't know," Malachi whispered, as shocked as John. Ronon was on his knees beside John, feeling for a pulse, checking the eyes with what field training he had learned in his years as a Specialist. "Sheppard . . ."

"I know, I know!" Fear pushed John into action. He started rubbing Rodney's arms, his chest, his legs, trying to get the blood flowing, wondering if the pain of rubbing his harsh wound would be enough to release him from his stupor. It felt like rubbing a lump of putty. Useless.

He stood and pulled Rodney to his feet as Ronon braced the man from behind. Dead weight suddenly took on a new meaning for John. "We've got to get him back," he muttered, "get him warm . . ."

"I can get the cart . . ." Malachi offered.

"No, you stay the fuck away from us!" John bellowed, then instantly reconsidered. Ronon carried Rodney, and John dragged Malachi along with them.

There was a quick stop at Malachi's hut, where amidst curious eyes they quickly wrapped Rodney in a dry blanket. The eyes were still open, but unseeing, as least to the events going on outside. It was as though he had been taken, and only the shell of the body was left to them. It was a thought that terrified John, and as a result angered him, to the point where he yelled at those that offered help. He eyed the hearth and decided that, rather than risk wasting time laying Rodney before it, it was high time to get his friend away from this place and into proper medical care. A dozen scenarios were playing out in his mind, each one making him more and more livid.

He grabbed Rodney's pack and his own belongings, fastening his radio earpiece in place as they ran out. Ronon said nothing; he just snarled at those who ventured too closely, Rodney hanging limply over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Malachi was showing some willingness to follow on his own accord, so John let him as he keyed his comm. "Atlantis! This is Sheppard, come in!" He waved away Sanara, who had joined him in concern.

"Colonel!" Elizabeth's voice eased his tension somewhat. There was just something about her mothering tone when she spoke to her off-world team that he liked. Usually. "Did you find Rodney?"

Unfortunately this nurturing person held no band-aids that could cure this ailment. "Open the iris! Get a medical team ready stat!" He offered no further explanation, knowing that Carson would be there waiting for them.

People were crowding around and slowing their progress. One woman tried to take Rodney from Ronon, and he snapped, shoving her away before thinking. He hesitated, an apology quickly writing itself on his face before he continued his uphill climb. He didn't have time for this.

Sanara grabbed John's arm. "We wish to help! Please!"

John rounded on her. "Haven't you done enough?" Her eyes flew open, and John instantly regretted his words. "Look, I'm sorry, this isn't your fault." It wasn't. He knew that. It wasn't the fault of any of these people. "I'm just sorry you have to deal with it."

"He is the one coping with this. Will he be rid of it?"

"I hope we all will," John said quietly, and he took hold of Malachi's arm, squeezing it urgently.

"Yes, yes," Malachi said, just as quietly, and turned to look at the villagers. His sight fell on each one as they crowded behind him. Ronon was nearly at the top of the hill, and John waved him on.

Malachi pulled himself tall. "As you can see, our guest was stricken. He will receive the best of care back on his own world. In the meantime, please return to your homes. Please! We will send word."

"Is it a plague?" a young woman asked fearfully.

Malachi shook his head sadly. "No, it is not a plague. Now go, please. Let us tend to Doctor McKay."

Sanara stood face to face with him. "You will send word."

"I promise."

"All right, all right, we've got to go." John tugged at him arm, and together they hurried up the hill. Malachi hesitated for a moment at the top, waving the people away, and followed John.

"I am sorry," he said, his breath catching from the exertion.

"Save it."

"Sheppard," Ronon's voice growled over the comm, "I'm at the gate."

"Dial it! We're right behind you!" He urged Malachi on, not caring if the older man was winded.

When he saw the gate ahead, he felt a weight lift from his chest. Once he was through, he prepared himself to see a slew of people working over his friend. Instead he caught a glimpse of . . . nothing. No frantic medical teams, no pressing co-workers, nothing. Radek looked down from above, his face ashen.

"Carson's taken Rodney," Elizabeth said, her voice heavy with concern. Her eyes fell on the new arrival, who had stopped at the foot of the gate and was staring around him; at the personnel who were staring back, some with guns raised, at the colored glass windows that soared high above him like a cathedral. John stepped back and watched.

"This place is so clean," Malachi said in awe, "so . . .unnatural." He noticed the woman watching him with a measure of disdain. He smiled weakly and held out his hand, but it wasn't accepted. He wasn't surprised.

She walked to up him, her eyes sharp. "I take it you are the one responsible for this?"

He blinked in astonishment. "Now that isn't a fair thing to say! I did try to warn all of you."

"True. But I'm told you've been holding out on us. If there is anything you'd like to share with us, I'd say now would be a pretty damn good time!"

"Been there, tried that," John said icily. Malachi glared at him, and returned his attention to the woman.

She was angry, full of righteous fury which somehow seemed more threatening in a female. He'd always know better than to argue with Sanara, and something told him that it was useless to argue with this female. Besides, they had every reason to be angered.

"How is Teyla?" he asked gently.

Elizabeth frowned, as though suspicious of his motives. "Not good."

"May I see her?"

"No."

"But I may be able to help . . ."

"I think you've done enough," John muttered, and grabbed Malachi by the arm, intending to steer him away from the few onlookers. Weir nodded toward her office, and they ascended the stairs, with Ronon heading off to check on the patients.

Once inside, Malachi collapsed into a chair, still winded. Elizabeth took her seat, but John remained standing beside the door, his arms crossed. He watched Malachi, daring him to make a wrong move or say the wrong thing.

"Now," Weir started, "I want to know everything."

As it turned out, Malachi divulged no new information, which was annoying and not unexpected. The conference was relatively short, simply because John couldn't sit still, nor could he concentrate. Elizabeth recognized this, and instructed that their conversation would take place after a visit to the infirmary.

First order of business was to check on Teyla. She looked pale, with a frightening array of tubes connecting her to all sorts of machinery. The usually vibrant figure now practically disappeared into the white sheets. John watched her for several minutes before giving her arm a quick rub and heading to the opposite side of the infirmary, where Rodney lay.

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It was several hours before Rodney moved, and even longer before he seemed coherent. Carson sent out word, and soon his bed was surrounded by his friends, including Malachi and Dr. Kate Heightmeyer, who was seated beside him. Rodney took little notice of them; he merely moved his lips silently as he studied his fingers in morbid detail, picking at the calluses and cuticles. Carson kept pushing his hands down, but he kept raising them. He was talking, which was a good thing. But the way he was talking, and what he was saying, was disturbing to say the least.

"I felt it. She died. I thought she died." Rodney was staring at his hands, his face white. "I saw myself doing it, and I felt the bullet go in." He winced. "I felt it tear through the skin, through the muscle. I felt the organs rip open. It was like every sensation was frozen in time. It was fascinating." He looked up. "I kept waiting to feel the moment of death. I wanted her to die. I wanted to see where she went, so I could follow her."

"Rodney?" John leaned down, bracing himself on the mattress, feeling it dip. "What are you talking about?"

He looked at John, but there was no recognition in his face. "I needed the path."

"What path?"

Rodney didn't answer, he just studied his fingers again.

"Oh my god," Carson muttered. He snapped his head up to face his companions. "Well, don't you see? That's what all this is about. It's not trying to find a way home. It wants to die, and it can't. It wants peace from all of this."

Sheppard barely smirked. "So, what, all this mindless killing is a result of this thing is trying to find the tunnel of light? You've got to be kidding me."

Rodney resumed picking at his fingers, almost talking to himself. "I wanted to go. I wanted to leave this place. Everything I every felt was gone, all that was left was . . . _rage_. Nothing else felt right. No happiness, no desire, nothing to look forward to. No frame of time. Just an eternity of nothing." The words were strange coming out of Rodney's mouth, yet John was certain he was the one talking, not the entity.

Kate nodded in understanding. "I see." Her inner clinical analysis that so disturbed the inhabitants of Atlantis was running strong.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, not taking her attention away from Rodney. "Care to share?"

Kate twisted in her chair to face the group. "The two most predominately intense emotions a being can experience, are rage and ecstasy. I think this creature is doing what is necessary in order to keep in touch with what little it is able to feel. If being trapped for so long has dulled its sense of life, then there is only one thing left to, quote unquote, live for."

"You mean the only way this thing feels alive is by torturing others?" Elizabeth asked.

She threaded her fingers around her knee as she leaned back. "Killing is a extreme process of carrying rage against a given set of circumstances, and that rage itself can lead to a sense of ecstasy when the act is carried out. It is a result of desperation."

"I wanted that tunnel." Rodney looked up, wide-eyed. "I wanted the white light."

"It wants to move on," John confirmed. He couldn't believe it. Had they run in circles over a classic haunting?

"So let it," Kate replied.

John turned to her, incredulous. "Oh, gosh, okay! I'll just turn on the runway, how's that? Thread christmas lights along the halls to the gate room? Station my men on the landings with little flags?"

"John!" Elizabeth admonished.

John flung his arms out in frustration. "Well, what the hell else am I supposed to do?" His outburst was met with silent stares. Rodney didn't seem to notice that anything was happening.

"There is a way. I had mentioned it before." Malachi stepped forward.

"No," John spun, his forefinger raised. "NO. I said no once before, and I've just said it twice then. No. Three times."

"Wait, what way?" Kate asked.

"He wants to kill Rodney."

"I didn't say I _wanted_ to kill him!" Malachi exclaimed. "I said it was the only way!"

"Are you insane?" Kate spat, and looked at the man that stood behind her.

"No, no, no, wait. . . it wants the tunnel. It wants the light." Carson muttered, frowning. "Maybe the victims are dying too quickly."

John stared. "You're not seriously considering this, are you?"

"It can be done," Carson said in a low voice. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his lab coat, and his eyes rarely left Rodney's agitated form. "It's risky," he scrubbed a hand over his face as he watched the man on the bed, "but it can be done."

John practically loomed over him. "I don't like where this is going, Doc. Because the only thing I can think of that could possibly be going on in that brain of yours is staging a death."

"Similar to that, yes. Not really staging a death. More like bringing Rodney to the brink of death, and holding him there."

John's brows raised, his attention focused on the medical doctor, his friend, talking calmly about killing his other friend. . . " – _What_?"

"Oh for god's sake, compared to his normal state he's practically a vegetable, man!" Carson pointed to Rodney, who resumed the study of his fingers. "Do you really want him to stay like this? I'd rather he die, myself! This degeneration will just continue until there is nothing left of the Rodney we know, and then even more until there is nothing left period! Do you really want that for him? Do you think he would?"

Rodney looked up startled, and held up his hand. "I used to play the piano!" he exclaimed, fascinated.

John's features wilted. He held Carson's gaze, pouring all of his will into the doctor's ability _not _to fuck up. "Malachi," he said, still looking at Carson, "is any preparation needed for this?"

"No," Malachi said, "I believe it will know what is happening, and act accordingly."

"You're not leaving."

Malachi looked a thousand years older. "This is my fault. I created it, and it wants release from the burden that I placed upon it. Of course I'm not leaving."

John looked at Elizabeth, then at Kate. They looked back, offering nothing. The ball was in his court, then. "Fine. Do it."


	6. Chapter 6

As it turned out, the task did take some preparation, which allowed John his own personal time. He stood on one of the many inner balconies of Atlantis, watching the activity below him. It was odd, watching these people go on about daily business while he waited to see if a friend would die. It seemed wrong. All of Atlantis should be at attention, except that it would be the last thing that Rodney would want, and quite frankly, it was the last thing he himself wanted. He just felt people should know, or something. Of course they probably did, to some extent, it was becoming harder and harder to keep a secret in the city from reaching from one metallic rimmed bay to the other, and this was Rodney, after all. Head geek. Of course people knew what was going on. So if they did know, why didn't they look concerned?

And, yet again, here he was, having to play the waiting game when it came down to his friend's health. That in itself was becoming tiresome. Aliens, viruses, personal shields, more aliens, Wraith, aliens . . . hell, he knew the job would be risky. But he'd had no idea how many days would be spent with a knot in his gut as his friends battled for their lives, or tubes up his own nose as he battled for his own. Rodney had threatened him with bodily harm more times than he cared to count if he were to end up in the infirmary, which of course led to the circular argument that if Rodney injured him, he would end up in the infirmary anyway. Which would lead to Rodney's grunt of agreement, and another threat, such as a mustache and body hair on his Johnny Cash poster. Pink laces in his boots. The Rodney glare 24/7.

What he wouldn't do to see that glare now.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and knew who it was without having to turn. "It's time, huh?"

"Yes." Elizabeth's voice was as gentle as her touch, and she didn't remove her hand. "Carson asked for you. He thinks if you're there, you'll help . . ." her voice faded.

"Help what? Anchor him? Keep him on his side of death?"

"Yes." Her voice was stronger this time, and adamant.

"Must be my charming bedside manner."

"Actually, I think it was a reference to you being his closest friend."

That did he. He choked, and hated himself for it. "Yeah. What the hell. Like he said, we seem to make a habit of saving each other's lives." John pushed away from the rail. He was well aware that Elizabeth's hand never left his shoulder until they reached the infirmary.

They walked over to Teyla's bed. She was still too small, pale, fragile. Her breathing was steady, but everything about her looked close to death. Nurse Rainey looked up and gave them an encouraging smile, though small, but it was enough.

Elizabeth gave his arm a squeeze. "I'll be outside."

John turned quickly. He had thought she would stay. He almost needed her to stay. Instead he walked alone to Rodney's bed.

Rodney was tubed up, strapped down, and looked worse than Frankenstein's monster. John's gaze drifted over the bedridden man nervously. He winced and looked at Carson. "You sure about this?"

The doctor was fidgeting with a machine John hadn't seen before. "As certain as I can be under the circumstances." He allowed a moment of doubt to creep in as his hands feel helplessly by his sides. "Physically I can probably control things from here. It is the psychological impact I'm worried about."

"Shouldn't Kate be here?"

"I don't want a lot of people crowding the area. She'll be right outside, with Elizabeth and Ronon. I've asked Malachi to join us, he's outside as well. But I wanted to talk with you in private before I brought him in." Carson disappeared for a moment, and returned with a sheet of paper on which he had scribbled down a few hasty sentences. He hesitated, then slowly handed the paper to John. "This is something you should hold on to. It's Rodney's last request."

John paled. "Carson . . ."

"Take it."

"I don't want it!"

"There is a risk. A great risk. This is something he mentioned a while back. He first brought it up after that whole nanovirus affair, and after Grodin's death . . .well, he wanted you to have it." Carson gave the paper a final glance and pressed it into John's hand. "But don't look at it. Not yet."

John took the paper almost with a measure of distaste. He wanted to crumple it, throw it away as useless, but he knew better. "I wouldn't dream of it, Doc."

"Then let's get started." Carson took a deep breath, and pointed to the chair beside the bed. "I'll go and fetch Malachi."

John carefully refolded the paper and stuck it in his back pocket. He swallowed and sat in the chair to Rodney's left, facing his head, taking in all of the wires that surrounded his friend. A steady beep sounded in his right ear, and he turned in irritation. On the other hand, that beep said clearly that everything was all right, for the moment. John watched Rodney's chest rise and fall beneath the blanket. He reached out hesitantly and placed his hand there, watching it rise and fall with the rhythm of breathing, feeling the heartbeat, feeling the warmth. Feeling the life, and willing it to stay.

He jerked his hand away as Malachi entered, looking forlorn and serious. He gave John a single nod, and took his place just to the right of the foot of the bed.

Carson inhaled deeply, and let his breath out slowly. Once he was ready, he said, "I'm going to administer the drug through the IV. It'll slow his breathing, his heartbeat, everything. I will continue to administer the drug until he reaches a point . . ." he said nothing else, as Malachi raised his hand to stop him.

"I understand," he said solemnly. The hand lowered. "Before you start, I wish to do something."

Carson looked puzzled. "Of course."

Malachi gave a nod and walked over to the edge of the bed, across from John. He leaned over Rodney and made a sign over his chest, then folded his hands as he spoke.

"You have been most brave, Rodney McKay. I hope to ease your burden, and that of the spirit that resides within you. I give you cleansing and good health. I grant you freedom. And should our paths never again cross, I give you strength and love, and grace go with you on your journey." He leaned over, his hand on Rodney's chest, and muttered a few sentences under his breath, a language John had never heard before. Malachi stepped back, returned to his chair, and gave John a pointed look that clearly said, 'Your turn'.

John had no intention of saying goodbye. Not yet. "Carson, just how long is this going to take?"

"I don't know lad, I've never done anything like this before."

"I mean, how long can you safely keep him under?"

"I wouldn't risk more than a couple of hours."

"So you're saying two?"

"Aye, if that."

John nodded and looked at his watch. Two hours to a new day. He glanced at Malachi, then gave his friend a fond look.

"See you on the flip side." He nodded at Carson, and the doctor administered the drug.

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He had only on nerve left, and that damned mechanical beep was on it. Yet he was scared shitless that it would stop. John had been holding onto Rodney's cold hand for four hours. His body had aches in places that shouldn't have been deemed places, yet they were painfully and obviously there. His mind was numb with the worry that Rodney had yet to wake, had yet to even budge from his deep coma. All John knew to do was to sit and clutch his hand, rub his arm on occasion to stimulate blood flow, or sensation, or something. Whether that worked was beyond him, but he couldn't just sit there. He had already done that, talking to Rodney, then sitting in uncomfortable silence. Desperation was kicking in, and he didn't care who witnessed it.

Malachi was sitting across from him at Rodney's right. His eyes had been closed the whole time, and he swayed gently back and forth, muttering litanies underneath his breath that contributed nothing to John's emotional state of affairs. But hopefully it was contributing to Rodney's, so he kept his mouth shut.

Ronon kept peeking in irritably, then rejoining Teyla, who had yet to awaken.

Carson's face was lined with stress. His constant checking and rechecking of Rodney's vitals at least comforted John to some extent. But for the most part it was the worst waiting game he had ever played. If the beeps sounded too far apart for his liking, he started talking to Rodney, albeit a bit loudly, so never let it be said he was actually yelling at a dying man. The beeps would pick up, whether as a coincidence, or recognition, John couldn't say. And he didn't care. As long as those beeps kept going.

Hour six, and he wanted nothing more than to either stand or go to sleep.

Hour eight, and he was barking out medical orders like he knew what he was talking about.

Elizabeth was a ghost. He was certain she was there, yet he never actually saw her.

And it wasn't until hour ten that the beeps suddenly lengthened into one long electronic wail, that a breath released in a final hiss, that John jumped up and leapt out of Carson's way as he frantically fought for Rodney's life.

Malachi and John were both shoved aside. John turned frightened eyes to the man beside him, taking in the tense posture. So he was worried. For himself, or for Rodney? The way he wrung his hands annoyed him. His shifting his weight annoyed him. That damned chanting had annoyed him, everything about this man annoyed him. And underneath the stacks upon stacks of annoyance, he found a thread of surprising sympathy.

He had made a bad choice. They all did things like that, acting with good intentions and screwing up in the end. Malachi had been coping with this on his own. John at least had a team to support him, counsel him, correct him. Malachi had nothing but a village to care for, and a haunting he couldn't escape. Other than Sanara, who was nice but not very helpful in such matters, he probably had no one to talk to.

John suddenly felt sorry for him.

Five minutes later Carson emerged with the news that Rodney was alive. He was weak, but his vitals were relatively strong. Not totally out of the woods yet, but better.

Malachi verified this with wide eyes. "He did it," the old man whispered. "I can't sense it. It's gone."

At that moment there was a faint sound behind the curtain. John pushed past Carson and flung open the privacy curtain. Rodney was there, lying utterly still, but there was movement behind those lids, and his chest filled with a moan.

"Rodney!" John smiled before he could stop himself. He leaned over the bed. "Hey buddy, it's over. It's all over, you can wake up now. You did it."

Rodney's chest heaved with deepening breaths. A finger curled, and John found himself carefully taking hold of it, watching with curiosity as it curled inside his hand like a child looking for reassurance. Eyes opened slowly, slits of blue in a white face.

John's own breath caught. He waited until Rodney blinked a few times. "You with us?" he asked cautiously.

Rodney blinked lazily, painfully. It seemed to take forever for him to turn his head. "Hey," he whispered, and his eyes closed again, this time in exhausted sleep.

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He slept for two days. Carson insisted that it was normal, but John hovered outside the door whenever his duties freed him up for a moment or two. Malachi was under guard in guest quarters, not allowed to leave until they knew for certain that Rodney was fine. He ignored the man's insistence that the entity was gone.

On day three, Rodney was allowed visitors. It was the first time he was able to speak coherently, and his voice was low and tired. Malachi pushed the others aside eagerly and leaned over the exhausted man, waving away the anger directed at him. "Did it work?" he insisted. "What did it tell you?"

"Do you mind?" John asked.

But again Malachi waved him away and leaned in closer, his hands planted to either side of Rodney's body, his face filled with anxiety. "What did it tell you?"

Rodney's breath quickened for a moment. He frowned lightly. "Nothing."

Malachi shook his head vigorously and he gripped the sheet. "No, no, it had to say something. What did it say?"

Rodney licked his lips a few times, then met Malachi's pointed stare, right above his face. "You really want to know?"

John was shocked at the anger in Rodney's voice. "Look, that's enough," he said, and pulled Malachi away.

Rodney looked at John as though seeing him for the first time. "Hey. You're here."

John's mouth quirked.

Malachi yanked his arm away from John's grip. "I must know what happened. You don't understand."

"Later," John said firmly, "when he's rested a bit more."

"No." Rodney's head lolled on the pillow, and he swallowed. "Now." Bright eyes turned to Malachi. "I know you are responsible for it. I don't know how. I know it wanted to die."

Malachi nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, and you did this? It no longer suffers?"

"No. It isn't suffering."

Malachi straightened, and smiled, his whole body folding in relief. He turned to pat John on the back. He stopped at Rodney's voice. "I'm not finished."

Malachi turned back, confused. "How so?"

"I said it doesn't suffer. I didn't say it was gone."

John leaned in, shouldering Malachi aside, anger fighting with disbelief. "Wait a minute. You mean it's still in you?"

"No," Rodney replied slowly, and with a little of his former edge, "it isn't still in me. But it's still alive." He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and returned his attention to Malachi. "You created a monster, quite literally." He took a breath, and continued. "I don't know what happened. We didn't really communicate, not like you and I understand it."

"I know of this communication," Malachi interjected.

"I know _you_ do," Rodney said irritably, "I was saying it for _his_ benefit." He looked at John, who signaled for him to continue. "The entity, for lack of a better word, has decided that it enjoys what it's doing. It likes the killing." His eyes were sad. "It wants to continue. But it left me alone."

"Why?" John asked quietly.

Rodney gave a small, one shouldered shrug. He was tiring, his speech was strained. "I suppose because I made it realize its true nature. It won't bother me anymore. It's moved on. This is what the entity has decided. I had no way to change that, much less destroy it."

"So it'll keep on killing," John said.

"Yes." Rodney closed his eyes. "But I won't know about it. That'll be the problem of some other poor soul."

Malachi had slowly backed to the edge of the curtain during the conversation.

"It's already selected the next bouncer."

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Teyla was sitting in a wheelchair, looking out over the water. She wasn't yet allowed to go into the air. She had to make do with the sight through a window, and it was killing her. "I would like some fresh air," she moaned.

It was a dejected sound, and Rodney wasn't used to hearing that tone from her. But he understood. "I'd wheel you out there, but that might land me in the infirmary again, and I've spent enough time there. If I believed in karma I would say I'm not willing to risk any more unpleasantness by upsetting the status quo." He stood beside her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his grey pants.

"I am glad you're here. I was afraid that after what happened . . ."

"Oh, I considered avoiding you. But then I figured that once we are on an off-world mission and my karma kicks in, I'll need you at my back." He waved away her smile. "Don't think this is for your benefit. Self preservation only."

"Which is why you made a special trip to speak with me."

"I'm just sealing the pact. I shoot you, you forgive me. That sort of thing."

He really didn't know what to say to her, and that was fine as far as she was concerned. Just the fact that he was standing there close to her, casually, not fidgeting nor moving away, spoke volumes that had no need to be expressed. "And how are you feeling?" she asked him.

"Oh, you know. Half the stuff in this city is breaking down, so who has to go play superhero?" He pointed to himself. "Really is a wonder they were able to function without me all this time."

She would have laughed, but it hurt her chest. "I sure they appreciate everything you do. Everyone was quite worried."

"Really?" He seemed genuinely surprised, and covered it. "Well, of course they were. After Zelenka, Kavanaugh runs the show, and who the hell wants that?"

"Zelenka does not appear to have the same . . .karma . . .as you have, so the chances of Kavanaugh ever taking over . . ."

"Oh, and thanks for that, huh?" He sent her an acerbic look that meant nothing. His attention crept back to the water. "It is lovely, isn't it?" he said quietly, almost thoughtfully. "It's a shame that there are – things – out there that can't appreciate this."

"Everything appreciates beauty in its own way," Teyla said.

"And what is beautiful to one is a junk heap to another," a new voice said, and John walked into view. "You two having fun?"

"I would feel better were I not confined to this chair," Teyla mumbled.

"Uh-uh. No slinging sticks for six weeks or more. Take it easy for a change, huh?" John took the handles. "And Carson's ready for you."

Teyla sighed in resignation. "It seems I am to have your role for a while, Rodney."

"Oh, enough already! And don't go expecting me to get injured just to get you out of these checkups. I've had enough for several lifetimes, thank you."

"Don't you have work to do?" John chided.

Rodney cast him a withering look. He gave Teyla a more friendly one, and headed toward the labs.

Carson's exam was more thorough than Teyla cared for, but when it was over she was pleased to find she was healing rapidly. "You'll be walking about with no trouble in a day or so," Carson said happily, "only no working out for six weeks. I mean it, Teyla."

"I understand," Teyla responded, reluctantly.

"I'll keep an eye on her, Doc," John offered, and started to raise a lecturing finger toward her when Carson's comm sounded.

"Carson!" Rodney's voice was pained. "I need help down here!"

Carson frowned as he keyed his unit. "Rodney, what is it? Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not all right!" he screeched. "I think I broke my ankle! Damned alien stairs . . ."

Teyla laughed, even through the pain.

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John entered Rodney's quarters that night to find the irate scientist sitting at his desk with his chin in his hand, staring at a book, one bandaged foot propped in a chair on a pillow.

"How goes the injury?" John walked over and made a motion of slapping his foot off the chair.

"Don't you do it!" Rodney jumped, and yelled at the sudden motion. "How it goes, is it hurts, okay! So don't mess with it! What are you doing?"

John had knelt down, and was studying the bandage. "Looks like the swelling is going down."

"What, are you a doctor now?"

"I have eyes, Rodney."

"Yes, I can put a little weight on it, which means I can get you out into the hall if need be, so play nice."

John continued to study the wrap. "Doesn't look much like a break to me."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "It's a sprain, okay? As you apparently well know, don't think I didn't see you in the doorway checking up on me." Rodney huffed and returned to his book. "Thanks, by the way."

"You're welcome." John looked around, but there wasn't another chair available, so he perched himself on the side of Rodney's desk. "What'cha reading?"

"Some convoluted theory on interdimensional travel."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with your little incident, would it?"

"I'd hardly call it little." Rodney sent him a withering glance.

"Conclusions?"

"My conclusion is that I still have no idea what really happened to me, and I'm willing to keep it at that."

"Hence the book." John stood. "Well, I'll leave you to your reading, then."

"Good. Oh, and Colonel . . ." Rodney looked up suddenly. His glance fell sideways and was lost in discomfort.

John sucked on his inner cheek, taking in his friend's embarrassment, and nodded slowly. "See you for dinner? The usual time?"

Rodney managed a smile. "Table in the corner, by the window?"

"Gotcha." John snapped a smile at him, and walked out.

Rodney gave a small sigh of relief. Everything would be fine. It had to be. He returned to his reading with one eye on the clock, all the while wondering what the outcome of his little adventure had been.

And one other question nagged at him. Why him? Why all the others before him? Why hadn't the entity just taken . . . .

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_Large, white hands were prominent against a shadowed background as thick, calloused fingers reached for him, then wrapped around his throat. Sensations flashed by in frames: the damp earth at his back, the smell of rotting leaves, a sharp stick poking into his spine. The cold, paralyzing fear and chest ripping panic. A dry, closed throat. The bite of cold steel. He was partially enclosed in the jacket of the man leaning over him, the dangling fabric blotting out his surroundings, making him aware only of the attacker hovering over him, killing him._

_He choked violently. He tried to scream as he clawed desperately at the hands. Images stabbed relentlessly at his mind, pictures much too vivid for reality, yet too startlingly clear for a dream. _

_He was caught. Trapped. And forced to feel the savagery over and over again, the tearing pain, of being forced onto his back and seeing the attacker, but not really seeing him. Feeling the knife at his throat, and the blood dripping down his face from repeated blows, experiencing the pure dread of what was to come. And the knowledge that he wouldn't survive. _

_Stale breath invaded his nostrils. He breathed out forcefully, wanting no part of this person to join with him, and yet there was no choice. A knee pressed him into the earth, his tender ribs cracking underneath the pressure. And then there was the laughter, and a look in eyes so fierce, he was certain he had been captured by a monster. His clothing was ripped and his chest flayed, peeling back layers of skin, revealing a person that was best hidden. And he could do nothing but scream, yet his screams held no words, no sounds, just senseless, empty echoes in the cold night air . . . ._

Malachi was drenched in sweat, his body curled tightly around itself, his head throbbing . . . .


End file.
